Note: This is a final installment of “Buying Love,” and it is an origin story for The Admiral and a few other characters mentioned in Buying Love and Bro to Ho. This is a long story, and it will be presented in four parts. This story is a work of fiction that contains themes of peril involving a shipwreck. It includes bondage, chastity, gay sex, and male-on-male love. All depicted characters are over the age 18.

Buying Love – The Admiral’s Origin Story: Part 01

By Cutieboy90

On the patio of the Genoa Yacht Club – Genoa, Italy…

“Ahoy, Silber! We got a late one!”

Jonathon Silber smiled as he turned his binoculars toward the harbor. “Oh yes. Almost two hours, too.” He noted the time on his phone. “Odd for a line that has such a good reputation for punctuality.” He watched as the small freighter made its way to its dock, oily black smoke puffing from its funnel.

“Late, and in need of a tune up.”

“You’d have never let your diesels get that bad, Roger.”

Roger sighed. “Nope… My ships were always clean and spotless. My crews could eat their breakfasts off the engine room floors. God I miss those days.”

“Heh,” Silber gave his old friend a nudge. “Perhaps they’ll take you on as an inspector. Or maintenance supervisor.”

“And give up the joys of retirement!? Never!”

“Well then do shut up about the good old days, would you?” A chipper British accent said from behind. “I’d rather forget about the dinosaurs we had as pets.”

“Ah Nelson!” They looked up at their other friend as he set a heavy-looking case down.

“What’s this?” Silber nodded to the case.

“My monocular, of course.” Nelson said proudly.

“Ohhh no, not this again…” Roger rolled his eyes. “Silber, don’t engage with this madness. It just gets worse.”

“Now now,” Nelson said in mock offense. “I’m not mad. I’m British. And if you-”

Roger rolled his eyes again. “Right. British. A subtle, but important distinction. My mistake, good sir.” He finished with an exaggerated British accent.

“Oh?” Silber raised an eyebrow, a smirk growing on his face. “Do tell, Nelson. Why bring the big ol’ monocular all the way down here?”

Roger groaned. “No, please!! I need more wine…”

“Why? Because she’s coming in today!” Nelson said dreamily as he began to set up the monocular.

“She?” Silber grinned over at Roger, who was humming as he scanned the harbor with his binoculars in vain for a distraction. “We’ve all seen the V3 before, what gives?

“Not the V3, Silber. This is something else…” Nelson’s eyes sparkled. “The most beautiful sight, as if Neptune and Cupid made her together. Perfection on the sea. Ah her curves make me feel like a young man again in all the right ways!”

“You are so kind to put up with us old geezers here!” Roger said deliberately as a waiter brought another bottle of wine. “Grazie.”

“Ah ah,” Nelson said. “We’re not old. We’re retired. It’s a subtle, but important distinction.”

Roger glowered, muttering a mimicry under his breath.

“Surely,” Silber pressed. “No ship is perfect. That’s impossible.”

“Just because your destroyers weren’t perfect, doesn’t mean it’s impossible!” Nelson quipped. He quickly changed his tone. “Sorry mate, I didn’t mean that. All new designs have teething troubles, of course.”

“No need,” Silber waved his hand dismissively. “Those floating nightmares aren’t my problem anymore!”

“Cheers to that!” The three friends clinked glasses. Silber chuckled and rolled his eyes as he took a sip.

Those destroyers… Silber had overseen the expansion and modernization of the US Navy surface fleet, including two carriers, eight destroyers, and nine frigates, with open orders for more. They were his crowning achievement, a fine end to his career. But after two years in service, the new state-of-the-art technological wonders were having problems. All the ships were grossly overweight, therefore never meeting speed requirements, the catapults broke down, and the turbines constantly overheated.

The most embarrassing incident had happened the year before Silber retired. During a repositioning exercise, one of the new destroyers completely lost power. In the ensuing bad weather, the escorting frigate also lost power and the two vessels drifted in the Pacific for three days before they were repaired. Media reports had been scathing.

“Aha! We’ve got a Spaniard. Ohhh, it’s one of the Galeon-class cruise ships.” Roger’s announcement brought Silber back to the carefree world of retirement. An enormous cruise ship had turned into sight of the harbor. With its light gull-gray hull, angular no-nonsense lines, and low vented funnels, the ship had a bold, modern look to it. At the stern was a mosaic of colored glass windows denoting the location of a multi-level night club, recalling the ornate sterns of the gold-laden sailing ships of the baroque era.

“Mmm, yes. Isn’t that one of the new ones?” The 5,000 guest behemoth had no sheer, but a long gray triangle painted along the side rising toward the stern gave the illusion.

“The Royal Spanish Cruise Line says it’s completely solar powered. Talk about futuristic.”

“I’m not so sure about that…” Nelson piped up from his laptop. “According to the plans, the ‘Galeons’ have two diesel engine rooms. They claim these are auxiliary, though I doubt that’s the whole story. Besides, the entire ship would have to be covered with solar panels, and I don’t see a single one.”

“Interesting…” Silber mused. “So tell me about ‘her,’ would you?”

Nelson’s face melted into a lovesick smile. Roger rolled his eyes.

“She’s… Well I don’t really know anything about her. I’ve only seen her a few times, she always sails away so fast. All I know is she’s the most beautiful vessel I could have ever imagined. Italian-”

“Italian? What makes you say that?”

“Well it’s her lines, and proportions. Italian ships tend to be a bit stylised. Certainly more than your American ships. All function, no form.”

“Style, huh? How do you know she isn’t French then?”

“Nope, she’s definitely Italian.”

“Well,” Roger cut in. “In French and Italian, vessels are masculine, so it would be ‘he.’ So, gaylord, you’re in love with ‘him.’”

“Yes… It’s the navy life. Anything goes!” Silber and Nelson clinked glasses again as Roger rolled his eyes to the waiter.

“Oh, HEY LOOK!” Roger nodded out the window. “Isn’t that our ship just now?”

Silber turned the monocular toward the harbor entrance, to a large white yachtliner with an ethereal appearance. Every inch of the ship was a marine architect’s wet dream, blending classic proportion with an alien modernity. The hull was an elegant series of flares and curves with long clean lines and was highly stylized from stem to stern. The breath-takingly beautiful ship reminded Silber of the France, or Andrea Doria.

“That’s… Not the V3…” Silber quickly looked at the photo of the V3 on the travel brochure. “That-”

“Is my Italian beauty.” Nelson swooned. “Mi Amor… The first time I saw her, I thought it was the V3, but no. Besides, the V3 doesn’t visit Genoa often. And this stunner calls here weekly… So what do you think?”

Silber peered through the monocular again and smirked with triumph at the French Tricolor flying at the ship’s stern. He cleared his throat and replied with an exaggerated French accent. “The most exquisitely designed ship, yes? Very elegant indeed.”

“No!” Nelson gawked. “Surely not!”

Silber moved back so Nelson could look through for himself.

“I’ll be!” Nelson declared. “But she’s still the most beautiful-! But I don’t see a name. There must be a name on there somewhere! See if you can…”

“Uhh, you guys? Are the Blue Angels in town?” Roger asked.

Silber and Nelson looked up. The monocular had been turned a full 45 degrees following the yachtliner’s progress.

“What? That’s… She must be making at least 50 knots!” Silber looked back through the glass. “Yet, there’s no bow wave, no wake, and no exhaust. Like it isn’t even there. Incredible.”

“You see,” Nelson started. “That’s why I wasn’t able to get a good look sooner. But now we can do some research…” He opened his laptop. “Let’s see if it’s on the harbor schedule… Aand… Nothing!?”

“What?” Silber asked distractedly, as he watched the yachtliner approach a secluded pier on the far side of the harbor. “Surely there must be something. All the arrivals must be listed. And a ship like that has got to be registered, at least with the Port Authority.”

“According to the schedule, the only arrival is-”

“Oh! The V3!”

“There she is, look!”

A sudden commotion interrupted the friends’ musings. Every member of the club was rushing onto the patio!

“What the?”

“Silber! The monocular!”

Silber turned the monocular back to the harbor entrance. Another large white vessel with bold modern lines had turned on a final approach. Nelson, Roger, and even the waiter had crowded around the monocular, straining for their first look at the third-most famous ship in the world. Speaking rapidly in hushed whispers, they watched the V3 make its way through the harbor.

“It’s real! Actually real!”

“The finest example of modern shipbuilding and technology.”

“Do we really have to wait another day for our cruise? I might die before then!”

“Well if you do, we’ll still see you on board.”

“Huh?”

“Because that ship is heaven.” Another glass clink.

“The V1 and V2 have had all the press, but the V3 is an improved version. Slightly bigger. A touch faster. And more advanced engines than the V1 and V2.”

“How does a waiter know that!?”

“I’m a waiter at a yacht club! I hear things!”

“Hey! Be nice, or he’ll lace your next drink with petrol! You wouldn’t even notice.”

“I’m sorry about these idiots, I’ll leave you a good tip.”

“Silber, we’re in Europe. They don’t do tips.”

“What? Sure they do, I leave them all the time!”

“Yeah keep that up and you’ll be waiting tables yourself!”

“Oh will you guys shut up already?”

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

“Where the hell are you going?”

“My glass is empty, and the waiter is right here sitting in your lap!”

“I’m sorry, sir! I’ll get you some more wine!”

“No, let him get it himself. You should enjoy the sight of a mighty machine like the V3. It’s like watching the moon landing.”

“But I’m going on the cruise too!”

“What!? YOU!?? How?”

“The invitation was for the entire club, staff included!”

“Oh that’s cool. So you can serve us our wine and caviar on the ship of dreams. Way to go, corporate-”

“No, not as the help you idiot. Obviously they are guests!”

The V3 had made its way across the harbor, greeted by every horn and whistle along the waterfront. Silber mentally plotted the ship’s course, noting that it was headed directly to the same secluded pier as the mystery liner.

“Hey Roger, take a look…” Silber’s line of sight was cut off by the crowd on the patio. It would have to wait.

The elegantly bold V3 slowed as it approached its pier, coming to a stop amid the continued whistle salutes. It pivoted slowly in place to moor stern-first.

“Wow look at that, would you…”

The V3’s aft decks swung into view, revealing the ship’s three most iconic exterior features; a waterfall between the two upper Lido decks, a large scallop-shaped pool, and at the aft-most end of the Boat Deck stood a triangular deckhouse with a shallow pyramid roof.

The waterfall fell from the Upper Lido Deck to the Main Lido Deck. A patio with an array of outdoor lounge furniture took up the deck space immediately at the base of the wide curtain of water. A giant chessboard was painted on the port side of the deck.

“There are ten outdoor pools on this ship,” Roger observed. “Six of them are aft of the funnels.”

“Yes,” Silber nodded as he peered through the monocular. “Three there on the Sun Deck, two large jacuzzis on the Upper Lido Deck, and then the main pool on the Upper Promenade. They obviously don’t count the many smaller jacuzzis…”

“But that main pool… Wow.”

The main pool was a large scallop shape. Its upper edge was a terracotta red, which gave way to circular white tiles at the water’s edge. Silber could see a bar at the forward end of the pool deck, and several storage lockers.

On the deck below the main pool, a large standalone deckhouse boasted an unusual triangular shape. It was off the ship’s centerline, situated on the port side with an open patio to the aft starboard.

“Do we know what’s in that?” Silber asked out loud.

“Not sure,” Nelson replied. “I think it’s a restaurant, because of the patio? Or a fitness center perhaps…”

“Robért hasn’t published any detailed deck plans for this vessel,” Roger said. “Only the elevation with the names of the decks. It’s just a big pyramid of mystery at the end of the Main Promenade Deck.”

“We’ll find out tomorrow, if the suspense doesn’t kill us first.”

The V3 completed its turn and backed smoothly into the pier. A long whistle blast signaled the ship had docked. On the Yacht Club patio, the crowd finally began to disperse.

Silber’s attention returned to the unknown liner, now sharing the pier with the V3. The two vessels’ striking similarities were obvious, despite their differences in size and reputation. They had a distinctly clear family resemblance; timeless proportions, elegant lines, both achieving the impossible marriage of style, power, form, and function in their own ways.

“Hey Roger,” Silber turned the monocular slightly. “Do you see what I see?”

Roger peered through the lens for a moment. “I see what you see. Nelson?”

“I am looking it up right now…” Nelson typed into his computer. “Aha! Robért actually owns that pier. According to their press, they only recently completed construction on ‘a new terminal, including a restaurant, hotel, cargo storage, etcetera… For a Genoa-based Superliner.’ They even capitalize ‘Superliner.’”

“That’s it?”

“A ‘Superliner’ huh? That’s audacious, even for Robért…” Roger took a swig of his wine. “But nothing else? No press, or other announcements. Huh.”

“Even I find it very odd that there’s no information about that vessel.” Silber observed. “Especially one of that size that calls regularly at a major port like Genoa.”

“Not to mention a product of Robért. You’d think the press would be all over a super-sized V-class ‘Superliner.’”

“Actually they are.” Nelson piped up. “There are reports of sightings of a ‘beautiful mystery liner’ in the Mediterranean, North Sea, the Arctic, English Channel, and most recently the Ligurian Sea. And there’s a picture taken in the Bay of Biscay just last week! Look!”

Several blurry pictures appeared on the screen. Despite an obscuring glare on each of them, the beautiful profile of the mysterious Superliner could still be made out.

Silber narrowed his eyes at one of the pictures. “No look, this one is different. The hull is dark gray, and the aft terraces are enclosed.”

Nelson clicked to enlarge the image. “It was taken a year ago, near Bremerhaven.”

“There are at least three of these,” Nelson announced, after comparing the pictures online and carefully studying the ship at the pier. “They are… Obviously members of the same new, yet-to-be-named-publicly class of superliner built by Robért.”

The waiter snapped a few pics through the monocular with his phone, cursing repeatedly in Italian.

“Look,” he said, showing the pictures to Nelson. “Every picture! The V3 looks perfecto, but the Superliner… Niente.”

Nelson nodded. “Yes, it’s the exact same glare on all of my pictures. And all the pictures taken of this class… Silber, what do you think?”

Silber shrugged. “Perhaps they have some sort of protection. There are vessels that do that by jamming digital devices within range.”

“That wouldn’t explain the failure of my non-digital equipment to take photos, though.” Nelson suggested.

“Right, the dinosaur of a camera you lug around with your almost as ancient monocular…” Roger droned as he downed another glass of wine.

“Hmm… Robért is capable of coming up with a more elegant solution. Perhaps he has.”

“Shame…” The waiter pouted. “This would be a stunning picture of these two stunning ships.” He began to sketch the scene on a piece of receipt paper. “My boyfriend is an architect. Loves this sort of stuff…”

“Oh?” Nelson watched the waiter sketch. “You’re clearly a draftsman, or an artist at least?”

“I’m at university for design. I want to be a concept illustrator.” The waiter smiled. “I met my boyfriend there a few months ago. He’s American here for a semester exchange program.”

“Lovely,” Nelson turned his gaze back to the harbor. “Roger, didn’t you do a semester abroad?”

“Several…” Roger muttered darkly. “But not for college…” Roger grabbed a new bottle of wine off a cart.

“Oh dear…”

“But… You see… We didn’t get to choose where to, though.” Roger struggled with the cork. “They were also… A lot longer than semesters, yeah. And we called them…” The cork popped off. “Tours…” Roger’s eyes glinted with the reflection of the darkened glass bottle.

“Don’t mind him,” Silber murmured to the waiter. “He’s…”

“Bitter?” Roger interjected as he took a swig from the bottle.

“And now also drunk.” Nelson observed, trying not to look too amused.

The waiter finished his sketch just as the sun began to reach blinding levels and the shades lowered on the windows.

“Well that was all of my breaks.” The waiter said. “But worth it. And tomorrow when we board for the cruise, we’ll see it up close.” He refilled Silber’s long-empty wine glass.

“Or we could just ask the Robért staff. Surely they’ll know something.”

Nelson gazed longingly through the monocular. “They’ve really made something very special, haven’t they…”

“I’d say Robért has made several special somethings…” Silber said into his wine glass. “The world is still trying to figure out the V-class which have been in service for five whole years. And don’t forget the frigate-destroyers they built for the French navy.”

“Yes, well we’ll all get to see for, for ourselves soon.” Roger announced, clearly feeling the wine. “And then be… Get back to our glamorous retirement lives in… In style. On that!” He pointed vaguely out the window.

“But first, you’re going to lie down.” Silber said. “I’ll take him up to the room. See you guys tomorrow at the pier?”

“Yeah,” Nelson tore his gaze from the harbor. “Yeah, tomorrow. Boarding starts at eleven I believe.”

“Perfect.” Silber smiled and he helped Roger to his feet.

“Huh ho!” Roger slurred slightly as he stumbled and staggered in Silber’s arms. “Them’s a real storm. Rockin’ and rollin’ all night. Watch the handrail on the B-deck stairs, it’s loose…”

 

The North Atlantic, off Nova Scotia…

Seaman Joe Bennett stumbled hurredly down the corridor. “Please please please PLEASE don’t be over yet…!” He whispered to himself. Rounding the corner into the mess hall, Bennett found himself staring at an empty room. A cook named Ren Salynkos waved from a freshly-polished steel counter.

“Sorry mate,” Salynkos called. “Just cleaned up. Galley staff are long gone.”

Bennett cursed. “Thanks anyway Ren,” he shrugged and turned to leave.

“Hold on now,” Salynkos quickly washed his hands. “You were out helping secure the ship, weren’t you. Here.” He tossed a water bottle, an apple, and two pepperoni sticks in rapid succession. Bennett scrambled to catch the items in turn.

“You’re the best, man! I owe you big time!”

“Nah…” Salynkos snapped some new gloves on, waving dismissively as he resumed wiping down the mess hall counters.

Bennett smiled at the gleaming room. The stainless steel sparkled like silver, the linoleum floors as spotless as the day they were rolled out. Beyond the counters and tables, the food prep area gleamed like a showroom display. He sighed.

There’s always breakfast, Bennett figured. But for now he’d better- CRASH!

Bennett was slammed against the wall. Another swell. God, this foul weather was getting old. He steadied himself and stumbled his way back to the corridor toward his bunk.

Down in the bowels of the 101,000 ton aircraft carrier, the accommodation decks had an unusually quiet atmosphere despite the canceled exercise. The weather had grown increasingly worse, and now that the ship had been secured there was nothing to do but wait it out.

With the floor moving under him, Bennett carefully made his way down the stairs. “It’s just the first room on the right. To starboard. No, that’s not right. It’s to MY right, NOT the ship’s right. Starboard. So it’s actually to Port. Fuck this nautical terminology, I can hardly think as it is.” Bennett pried open the door to his room.

“Hey!” Bennett was greeted by a chorus of voices. So okay, it wasn’t just his room. He shared it with several other sailors. Brent Charles, Shane Matthews, and Tyler Clark were a bunch of goofy hooligans. Judging by the cards in everyone’s hands, and various states of undress, it looked as if a game of strip poker was underway!

“And you guys couldn’t wait for me?” Bennett asked with a grin.

“Hey, we weren’t going to sit here like a clump of barnacles at low tide!” Charles barked in his low chesty voice.

“Sure we could,” whined Clark, the youngest-looking of the bunch. Clad in only his briefs and a single sock, it was clear he had been losing again.

“And I’m calling it, Clark!” Charles pounded his fist on the makeshift table. “Your whining gave you away.”

“As did yours, you big whale!” Matthews slammed his cards against Charles’ beefy thigh. Full house. “Now both of you strip!”

Charles shrugged off his working blouse, revealing his undershirt. It stretched tightly over his broad shoulders and barrel chest, his perky nipples clearly outlined.

“Ugh not again…” Clark whined as he reached down and pulled off his sock. He tossed it onto his bunk with the pile of his other clothes.

Bennett pulled up a seat. “Deal me in,” he said. Matthews complied.

“So how is it looking. Up top?” Matthews asked casually as he shuffled the deck.

“Messy. Someone forgot to secure the paint locker properly. There’s red anti-fouling shit all over the boat deck. Like anyone’s going to notice in this weather…”

“Huh.” Matthews cut the deck. “Let’s hope not. Or we’ll all get-”

“Sound lashings!” Charles boomed with a gleeful twinkle in his eyes.

“…Smoked.” Matthews dealt the hands out.

“Fucked.” Clark muttered as he looked at his cards.

“Exactly,” Matthews replied. “Right. Joe, we determined the loser gets fucked. We’re all so pent-up and it’ll provide some entertainment while everyone else is busy being seasick.”

Bennett eyed Clark’s slim smooth body. His briefs were tight, and the prominent outline of his long slender cock throbbed with need. Clark was cute for sure…

“Hey, eyes front!” Clark smirked. “Game’s not over, and I-”

“Will most certainly lose.” Matthews winked at Charles and Bennett. “You might as well just lube up and bend over your bunk right now because you’re getting fucked tonight!”

“I don’t think so…!” Clark sing-songed with a smirk, holding his cards up to his mouth. “I think Lady Luck is smiling at me tonight, boys!”

“Bullshit!”

“LIAR!”

At that, the three of them pounced on Clark. Bennett sneered at the cards still clutched in Clark’s fist.

“Nothing! He’s got nothing!”

Matthews and Charles easily manhandled Clark over to his bunk, and tied his hands to the frame. Matthews tugged at Clark’s briefs, but Clark was bucking like a beached dolphin.

“Quiet down,” Matthews gave Clark’s tight bubble butt a firm slap.

“Here…” Charles reached down and simply tore the flimsy fabric from Clark’s body.

“Damn you guys!” Clark panted as his ankles were tied to the bedframe, leaving him spreadeagled on his stomach and vulnerable. “I still could’vehmmmHMMppphmm!!”

Charles had rolled up Clark’s shredded briefs and stuffed them in his mouth. Matthews handed him a discarded sock to secure the gag.

“HmmmPH! Mm mmmphff mhhp-phrrr hmmmphrs…” Clark struggled against the ropes. The metal bedframe creaked and squeaked over his muffled protests. Every movement rubbed his hard cock against the sheets, teasing him endlessly.

“Easy boy,” Matthews swatted his cute exposed rump. “We still have a game to finish. Gotta see who gets to fuck you first.”

“Whhhm? HMMMM!!”

Charles, Matthews, and Bennett chuckled softly as they sat back down and resumed the game.

“Attention!” The intercom crackled to life. “At 21:00, the vessel will be on lock-down until further notice. All main doors will remain closed. We’re gonna ride this one out, men.”

Matthews chuckled, eyeing Clark’s perky bare rump. “Yes. Yes we sure are.”

A distant whirring reached Bennett’s ears. It was the closing mechanism of the watertight door at the end of their hall!

“Shit! They really are closing all the doors.”

“Oh yeah!” Charles boomed. “You didn’t know we had one on this deck?”

Bennett stuck his head out into the corridor. He was shocked to see how it seemed to be cut in half by a wall of steel. Damn, that thing looks heavy.

The door clunked into place, followed by another electrical-sounding whine and a series of metallic clicks. An officer by the name of Stewart checking the door’s closure nodded.

“Door 20 secure.” Stewart said into a hand-held speaker.

“Door 20 secure. Roger.” Came the reply.

The officer turned and marched out of sight.

Several other sailors on the hall peered out curiously. Bennett saw a few even wander up to it, staggering to keep balanced as the ship rocked in the heavy seas.

“Really. Guys, it’s a giant door,” Matthews muttered. “There’s nothing to see.”

“Is that so?” Charles put his cards on the table. Matthews tutted.

“You still haven’t figured me out, big guy. Now strip!”

Charles laughed. “I’ll still beat you!” He kicked off both his boots cockily.

“And I… Could beat you all with both hands tied behind my back.” A deep, arrogant voice barked from the door. All eyes turned to drink in the sight of Nathan Vincent and Jake Jackson, Marines!

“Fuck me please,” Matthews muttered lustfully under his breath.

“Sorry Shane,” Bennett stood up and gave Vincent a long smooch. “This one’s already mine.”

Vincent beamed proudly as he hoisted Bennett up in his thick arms and locked lips with him.

Bennett giggled as they broke their kiss, playfully snatching Vincent’s cover from his head and placing it on his own. “I missed my big, strong, brave jarhead.” Bennett cooed in his ear.

“I missed my baby too,” Vincent whispered. “But I’ve got you now. Gonna keep you right here. Safe against my big Marine Corp chest, in my big Marine Corp arms. And I’m gonna fuck you with my big Marine Corp dick…” The amorous pair collapsed onto Bennett’s bunk, groping and kissing.

Charles took a deep breath in through his nose, visibly turned on by the show. He nodded to the other Marine who was standing awkwardly in the door with a massive bulge in his pants.

“You want in, Jake? Winner gets the bitch on the bed first.” He slapped Clark’s smooth ass.

Jackson smiled coyly, his cock twitching in approval. “Sure. A few rounds can’t hurt.”

 

Elsewhere on the pitching decks of the 1,150-foot carrier, Specialist Quinn-Timothy “QT” James was triple-checking the inventory of the toolroom.

“Oh-seven-one-five-dash-three-two, quantity of eleven… Check. All present. Check. Drawer secured. Check.” James marked the inventory sheet as he spoke to himself.

“Oh-seven-one-five-dash-three-three, quantity of eight. Check. All present. Check. Drawer secured. Check… Cabinet five complete. Perfect.” James closed the metal security grate across the front of the cabinet.

“Secured.” James noted the time and signed the sheets. He returned to his desk to log the day electronically. As the chief monitor of the toolroom, he was responsible for ensuring the room and all the equipment contained therein was accounted for. This was a tedious job, and one James took seriously.

“Are you still working?” A warm tenor voice disrupted the serene quiet of the room. James looked up from the computer and fought to keep breathing steadily at the sight of Caleb Bradley at the door.

“You still triple check everything yourself, don’t you?” Bradley stated smugly. “I knew nothing would change after my transfer.”

“And how is it out there, toiling away fixing stuff? Everything you hoped it would be?” James asked, fighting to hide his genuine curiosity.

Bradley crossed his beefy arms and casually leaned on the doorframe, bracing himself cooly against the list of the ship.

“I like fixing stuff,” Bradley said simply. “I like it every bit as much as you like obsessing over the presence and condition of every pair of plier and screwdriver embarked on this ship.”

James stopped typing and clicked enter to submit his report.

“Good. What do you want? Surely you don’t miss obsessing over the pliers and screwdrivers?” Under the desk, James dug his thumbnail into his cuticle.

“Heh,” Bradley scoffed softly, flashing a debonair grin. “Nah, I wanted to check on you. See if… You wanted an extra hand.”

James felt his heart flutter. But he kept his cool.

“Thanks. But as you can see, I’ve got everything under control here.”

“Of course you do,” Bradley nodded approvingly as he glanced around at the gleaming metal grates. “Remember when this was all new? There wasn’t a speck of dust or smudge of grime. It was like a showroom. And now, two whole years later. After hundreds of boots trampling through, countless grimey hands all over everything, and constant misuse by idiots like me… You’ve managed to make it all look newer. Still not a speck of dust…”

James couldn’t help but follow Bradley’s gaze, looking at the shining equipment through the grates, the spotless walls, shiny linoleum floor. And Bradley… With his magnetic presence, his bulky muscular chest framed by his huge biceps… Just standing there like a showroom model… And James, helplessly staring like a fool.

“Seriously though, did you go over everything with a buffer to make it all shinier? It’s like nothing has changed here! In a good way, that is…”

James felt his heart melt. Bradley was so damn sexy. And so damn straight… His heart froze and shattered all over again.

“No,” James said flatly. “Nothing has changed here at all.” He got up from his desk. “That is, of course, my job. To make sure nothing does change.” The ship’s rolling made it impossible for James to march across the room to shoo Bradley out; about halfway from the desk, James lost his footing and stumbled into the wall.

Bradley chuckled and reached out to steady his colleague.

“Easy does it, cutie.”

“It’s ‘QT’ or James.” James spat tersely.

“Yes, cutie, that is what I said.” Bradley smirked, still holding James’s shoulder.

“Right.” James twisted out of Bradley’s grip, only to stumble backwards against his desk. Bradley held on to one of the grates for support. The ship was rolling harder. Staying over their feet was proving a challenge, even for the experienced sailors like James and Bradley.

“S-so…” Bradley called as he stepped hesitantly toward James at his desk. “Now that you’ve submitted your daily report, and there’s nothing else to do…” He grabbed the edge of the desk. “You uh, wanna chill out with some… Contraband?”

James felt his heart reanimate itself from its frozen shattered state. Contraband…

“Like we used to…?”

“Yup!” Bradley beamed. “Just like we used to. Same magnetic chess board, same old Scotch, same secret nook.”

“Heh,” James faked a scoff. “And you were making fun of me for not changing my old habits. You hypocrite. But sure, why not?” In all honesty, James couldn’t have been more elated.

Bradley’s eyes lit up. “Awesome! Well come on then cutie!” He held his hand out to help James over to the door.

“The same old Scotch, huh?” James shook his head as he took Bradley’s hand. “Wow.”

As they reached the door, the ship pitched and heeled suddenly as if God had punched it in the face. James found himself with his back against the doorframe and Bradley’s muscular bulk pressing against him!

“Uh… Heh.” James squeaked, hoping Bradley wouldn’t notice his blushing. “Come on, get off me you lug. I can’t breathe.”

“Sorry cutie, I can’t. You’ll just have to enjoy it until-”

The ship recovered and pitched the other way, slamming Bradley back into the other side of the door frame with James pressing him against the cold metal.

“Oh I see how it is!” Bradley teased with a purr. “You prefer to be the one in control? Guess I can’t say that surprises me.”

James bit his lip. He found his footing and stepped back.

“Alright, let’s-” James was drowned out by several loud bangs and heavy clattering from the tool room. “…Go see what fresh hell that was.”

“That sounded like the plus-size long wrenches. Are those still just mounted on the wall on pegs?”

“Of course they are. Because everything’s exactly the same as it’s always been.” James muttered. They made their way toward the back of the tool room. Sure enough, all of the long-handled wrenches had slid off their pegs and crashed to the floor. They lay piled against the security grate.

“Come on, cutie!” Bradley rolled up his sleeves. “We’ll make quick work of this. Just like we used to!”

“Yes,” James said with a slight sigh. “Just like we used to.”

Fighting gravity and the ship’s ever-changing attitude, James and Bradley sorted the wrenches by size and placed them back on their pegs, giving each a quick inspection for damage and a wipe of WD-40.

“Let’s wrap them together, so they won’t slide off again. See, they’ll hit the grate and stop as a unit.” James handed Bradley a thin roll of tape.

The work didn’t take long. James soon closed the security grate, and Bradley tossed the WD-40 rag into the flammables container.

“Come on, let’s go before anything else happens.” James nodded to the door.

“Wait,” Bradley said as he wiped his hands. “It’s… It’s really kinda… I dunno, nice to be back in here. We work like… We make a great team. I’ve missed that.” He idly gestured toward a locked cabinet. “Remember when they mixed up the lapping compounds and the sanding grits? We spent hours resorting and relabeling… And then the time when they dumped all the bolts into a bucket, and we had to measure each one and separate them back into the right places.” Bradley chuckled. “My hands still cramp up just thinking about it. But it was just you and me.”

James smiled, feeling a nostalgic twinge in his chest. He knew he should be fighting the rapidly-returning feelings he had, but right now he just couldn’t. Not when it was clear Bradley had such fond memories. James would have to wrestle with his feelings later. He got Bradley out of his head once before, he could do it again.

“…And all that fiddly stuff you know I hated. So then I’d do the cleaning while you handled all the crazy detailed things, haha!” Bradley rested his hand on the desk, pausing in a moment of quiet reflection.

“Contraband? For old times sake?” Bradley finally said, rapping his knuckles lightly on the desk computer.

 

“I think we’ve earned it,” James nodded, steeling himself once again.

Time to haul himself out of the past and back to the present.

 

Genoa, Italy…

“So… This is it. The future.”

Jonathon Silber mused to himself as he stared up at the sleek white hull of the V3, the third vessel of the famous V-class Superyachts, so named for the configuration of their diesel engine blocks. At 29,000 tonnes, the term ‘superyacht’ was loosely applied; these were small cruise ships with blue water and ice-breaking capabilities.

Five years earlier, the V1 and V2 had taken the world by storm. With their gentle sheer, clean lines, and flared prows, the proud ships possessed a timeless grace despite their ultra-modern design. Their exquisite styling made them instant sensations with the press, architects, interior designers, artists, and celebrities alike. Most impressively, they were constructed of a novel composite material reputed to be indestructible. Combined with their powerful engines, this lightweight construction enabled them a top speed of 79.4 knots; the fastest conventional-hulled passenger ships ever built. The identical pair sailed out of a lavish terminal near Cherbourg, offering exclusive luxury cruises all over northern Europe.

The V3 had been built as a follow-up about a year later. Larger, faster, and more technologically advanced, the V3 was a solo act based out of Toulon. A French Riviera cruise aboard the V3 was reportedly the last word in exclusive extravagance; the ultimate in luxury…

“Right now, see if this will work then…”

Silber’s attention was caught by a trio of British businessmen wearing suits. They held tablets and cameras. The tallest was leaning over the pier, scraping at the hull with a pocketknife.

“It… Won’t flake off. Or even scratch.”

“Right then. We’ll… Surely get another chance this week. Let’s get aboard.”

The trio hurried up the gangplank.

Silber just stared. A brawny porter in a bright red uniform strode up with a cart for luggage. Silber pointed to the now-empty gangway door. The porter shrugged.

“These cruises are full of corporate and industrial spies. But,” the porter straightened up boastfully. “They can’t do any harm. Not to this ship.” He winked.

“Ah. I see…” Silber eyed another suit-clad group of men making their way up the pier, cameras clicking furiously along the entire length of the hull at the waterline.

“Can’t say I blame them,” Roger stepped up, his designer sunglasses barely concealing his bloodshot eyes. “Every shipbuilder, engineer, and architect firm wants answers. They want to compete, you know? Cash in…” He trailed off as a yawn overtook his throat.

“God, how much wine did you drink last night?” Nelson chimed in, placing his luggage on the cart. He placed the case containing his monocular down last with deference. “That is fragile,” he said to the porter.

“Of course, monsieur,” the porter nodded.

“Now, Silber,” Nelson continued. “Why are we still standing out here? And not on board where it’s air conditioned? And drinks? Not that this one needs any more…”

“I was looking for…”

“Right.” Nelson’s eyes shot open.

Roger groaned. “Please. No…” He stumbled forward, collapsing dramatically onto the luggage cart. “Cabin 217.”

The bemused porter wheeled Roger and their luggage onto the ship.

“She isn’t here, Nelson.” Silber whispered. “The slip was empty when I got here.”

Nelson sighed, visibly crestfallen. “Maybe someone here would know?”

“Hey,” Silber flagged down another porter. “Hey do you know anything… Wait, weren’t you just…?”

It was the same hunky porter he had just seen take their bags onto the ship!

The porter broke into a smile. “Oh yes, you must have seen my twin. We’re both stewards. I’m Tim, he’s Tommy. I’m the more handsome one,” he winked.

“O-oh. Great.” Nelson stammered, looking over the brawny young man. “Handsome Tim. We were just… Looking…”

“Do you know anything about the uh ‘Superliner’ that calls here?” Silber asked, gesturing to the empty slip. “The big one that arrived yesterday afternoon just before the V3?”

Tim blinked. “Superliner? No, I’m afraid you are mistaken. The V3 is the only vessel allowed to use this terminal.”

“Huh…” Silber nodded. “Thanks, Tim.”

Nelson gazed longingly at the empty side of the pier. Silber patted his shoulder.

“You’ll see her again soon I’m sure. But for now…”

Nelson’s eyes widened, a dementedly giddy smile overtaking his face.

“…We’d best get aboard and, oh I don’t know. Enjoy ourselves. It’s the V3!” Silber gestured grandly at the ship behind them.

“Right. Right of course,” Nelson stammered breathlessly. “It is the V3. There’s… So much to see. The uh, engine room. Do you suppose they’ll have a tour for mere commoners like us?”

“I’m sure.”

“And… It’s capable of exceeding 80 knots. Do you think they’ll… No, they won’t. But the food!”

“I heard is the best anywhere.” Silber gently herded his excited friend up the gangway, the electronic wristbands containing their boarding passes and IDs at the ready. “We’ll have two whole weeks to revel.”

“It’s going to be the trip of a lifetime.”

Silber smiled as Nelson slowed to take one last look at the V3’s slick exterior lines. He peeked through the gangway door, trying to get the first glimpse of the interior. The V1 and V2’s smart neo-Bauhaus accommodations had been designed by a joint team from BMW and Daimler. Glossy color photos dominated style magazines in the years since, earning the pair the distinction of being “as equally recognizable as the first class spaces from the Titanic…”

But the V3’s interiors had not been as widely circulated, despite rumors that Bugatti had been commissioned for the designs. The larger, more exclusive vessel was surrounded by an aura of mystique and intrigue. Answers, at least for Silber, just steps away. He only needed to cross the threshold…

“Well come on then, Silber. What are you going to do, look at it all day?” Nelson stepped briskly up the remaining three feet of the gangway, thrusting his wristband toward the security kiosk.

“Welcome aboard, Monsieurs.” The security guard nodded them through.

As he stepped onto the V3, the air left Silber’s lungs as he was met with a sudden blast of freezing cold air. The initial shock quickly wore off as he completed his first step aboard. Two tall men in crisp white-and-blue uniforms stood proudly beyond.

“Bonjour, Monsieur. I am Chief Purser Henri, my crew is here to take care of your every wish.”

“I am Phillipe, your cruise director.”

Firm handshakes all around.

“Welcome to V3!”

Once again Silber’s breath felt as if it had frozen in his throat. No, not from the icy blast of the ship’s futuristic ionic air conditioning system. Nor from the chilled glass of champagne thrust into his hand by a greeter. It was the visual chill, induced by sight of the grand reception room.

Stark gray concrete and bright white plaster. Backlit etched glass light fixtures and illuminated ceilings. Minimalist, modern furniture suggested an open concept lounge area. Open-weave linen drapes in muted shades of blues, grays, purples, and celadon graced the windows.

“It’s…” Nelson eeked hesitantly before trailing off.

“Not what you were expecting?” Henri offered in a friendly tone. He and Phillipe exchanged knowing smiles. “The V3, is perhaps, a bit of an outlier in Robért’s fleet. Maybe an acquired taste at first, but she’ll win you over. She always does.”

Silber nodded in acknowledgment. “Let’s go find Roger,” he suggested to Nelson. “We’ll get our bearings together.”

“Let’s start with the room. 217?”

“No need. Look.”

Roger was sprawled out on a couch on the other side of the room.

“Oh, you guys!” He exclaimed as Silber and Nelson approached. “There you are. I was wondering when-”

“Where’s my monocular!?” Nelson growled.

Roger rolled his eyes. “That hunky porter dropped me off here, and took our luggage to the room. It’s fine.”

A handsome server with a tray stepped up.

“Please, the last thing I need right now is another-”

“Un café,” The server smiled insistently. “Coffee, Monsieur.”

“You angel,” Roger sat up and accepted the drink. “Merci!”

Nelson was taking in the room’s stark style, wide-eyed with just a hint of bewilderment.

“Silber?” Nelson turned to Silber.

“Hmm?” Silber looked up from the schedule he’d grabbed at the desk earlier.

“What do you suppose…”

“I suppose we ought to take a look around, and see if it makes more sense as a whole.”

“When do we see the engine room?” Roger inquired, his voice echoing into the coffee mug.

“There’s several tours once we depart,” Silber replied. According to the day’s schedule, there was a guided engine room tour every two hours. “There’s a ‘lower forward viewing room.’ We just show up and the tour starts there.”

Nelson took an absent-minded sip of his champagne.

“And there’s… About an hour before we depart?”

“Correct.”

“Lead on then,” Roger stood up with exaggerated difficulty. “But not too fast now.”

The reception room was on the ship’s Main Shelter Deck, along with the second level of the main dining room, a lounge, a small collection of boutique shops, Purser’s office, and a theatre. Right away, the V3 established an extensive use of curved bulkheads and corridors, and with her clean modern decor appeared even more spacious than her sisters. A soaring four-level atrium provided access to the decks above.

“Look at that…” Silber gazed up through the well to a backlit etched glass ceiling. The atrium had sweeping height, accentuated by slender, straight-sided columns of white plaster. An elevator bank with five double-ended glass elevators made up its forward-most wall. Intricate seascape reliefs of polished concrete lined the walls, and glowing shells of white glass bathed the grand room in clean, natural-feeling light. All the handrails and door handles were matte black. Twin staircases spiraled lazily through the aft end, their deep royal blue carpets providing the most dash of color against the white, gray, and black.

“Another mid-century modern inspired minimalist masterpiece,” Roger observed wryly. “It’s an impressive space nonetheless.”

“I don’t mind it,” Silber commented.

The group made its way up to the Main Lido Deck, where a casual cafe offered crepes, croissant and bagel sandwiches, and a selection of wines. Aft of the cafe was another lounge, this one with a bar. A curtain of water separated the lounge from its outdoor patio area, complete with tall potted plants, cushioned benches, and a few small tables.

“It’s the waterfall!” Nelson said giddily. Roger made a mocking imitation, but looked ahead in genuine anticipation.

The broad curtain of water fell from the deck above into a slim rectangular trough. A modernist sculpture depicting kelpweeds “grew” out of the narrow trough on either side of the sheet of water.

“The waterfall is controlled by magnets,” an American-sounded voice said. “It’s cleaned and charged ionically, but the cycle uses water’s magnetic properties for control. Notice how despite falling eleven feet from the deck above, there’s no splash… It is completely silent.”

Silber eyed the knowledgeable young American. He stood about 6 feet tall, and despite his loose-fitting casual clothing, had an exceptionally athletic physique. His jet-black hair was tousled and just long enough to cover his eyebrows. He had piercing blue eyes, fixed on the base of the fountain. In his hand was a voice recorder.

“Oh, not talking to us. Kids today.” Roger rolled his eyes.

“Ciao! You made it!” A familiar young man stepped up, holding two glasses of champagne. It was the waiter from the yacht club! “I’m Tony.”

“Hello again!” Nelson greeted him.

“So we all made it! Isn’t this exciting?” Tony had stepped up to the dark-haired American and was trying to hand him a flute of champagne. “Oh this is my American boyfriend, Sean. He’s trying not to look too excited, but believe me, he is.”

“Oh yes, the architect.” Silber recalled. “Of course.”

“Very nice to meet you all,” Sean piped up, extending his hand to Silber. “Apologies, I’m taking notes for a report. This ship is… Something exceptional.”

“Understandable.” Silber noticed Sean had a surprisingly firm handshake. “Tony says you’re studying here on exchange.”

“Yes.” Sean held Silber’s gaze intently. “At the University of Turin.”

“Very nice,” Silber smiled.

“He’s great!” Tony agreed, pulling Sean back into a hug. “But baby, you promised you’d have a little fun. Join the party!”

Sean reluctantly took the champagne from Tony. He pocketed his recorder with a smile.

“Yes babe. It’s party time.” He leaned in and gave Tony a peck on the cheek.

The patio was getting crowded. Moving away from the waterfall to an open spot near the railing gave the group an unobstructed view of the V3’s sweeping aft deck spaces and the sun-kissed city of Genoa beyond.

“This. This is it!!” Nelson exclaimed giddily, rushing to the railing. “It’s time to-”

HHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!

The blast from the V3’s horn echoed over the harbor as the Robért terminal began to slide away. Cheers erupted from the spectators lining the outside decks and balconies.

Silber looked down along the side, noting the thin edge of foam forming at the waterline. The bubbles would rush smoothly toward the stern and gradually dissipate with a long playful swirl. Gulls swooped and called as the V3, now clear of the slip, picked up speed slightly.

“Exquisitely smooth. Absolutely no vibration.” Sean muttered, observing his champagne glass sitting on the handrail. Sean took a video with his phone, sweeping along the waterline at the spray pattern and wake.

Genoa’s waterfront gleamed in the afternoon sun. Colorful flags festooned the piers and buildings, and most ships were dressed with greeting flags. Like on arrival the day before, the V3 was sent off with a chorus of whistles from every craft in the harbor. From the smoky old freighter’s raspy whistle to the deep blasts from the Galeon’s signaling horn, the V3 seemed to take it all in stride until she’d reached the edge of the outer harbor. There, the V3 cut loose on her own mighty whistles, eliciting further rounds of cacophony.

“Ugh…” Roger groaned and stepped back inside. Silber followed him away from the din to a couch by a window. “What a racket,” Roger muttered as he held his head.

Silber nodded an acknowledgment. They watched as Genoa passed by the window; fleets of sightseeing boats and waving onlookers quickly dwindled away until all that could be seen was the sparkling blue Ligurian Sea.

Nelson, Tony, and Sean soon rejoined them.

“That was exhilarating!” Nelson said breathlessly.

“Yes,” agreed Sean coolly. Tony was holding his hand.

“Now it’s time for that engine room tour. How do we get to the ‘lower forward viewing room?’” Nelson looked to Silber.

“It looks like we take the elevator all the way down, and there’s a corridor leading aft.” Silber traced his finger over the deck plan. “I imagine we won’t be the only ones, either…”

“Certainly not,” Sean and Roger commented in unison.

“Wow. Look at that line!” Nelson commented as the group passed the shore excursion office. “Glad we all booked ours ahead…”

“Yes,” Silber agreed. “But we all know there’s only one shore excursion worth the trouble…”

“You mean the tour of the Robért Shipyard in Toulon.” Sean clarified.

“Naturally,” Silber led the way back to the elevator bank in the atrium where one of the double-ended glass elevators was waiting. Its doors opened with a delicate chime. Silber pressed the button for the lowest deck.

“They say the shipyard is entirely automated,” Nelson gushed. “They’re completely energy independent. It’s super futuristic.”

“It’s all very Willy Wonka’s factory to me,” Roger shrugged with a sarcastic wave of his fingers. “No one goes in, or out. Except the product. Ohhhh, magic!”

“You’re not wrong,” Silber chuckled as Nelson rolled his eyes.

“The main elevators…” Sean turned and spoke quietly into his voice recorder again. “Made of glass, no machinery visible. No hydraulics. No cables…”

The elevator dropped quickly through the four levels of the atrium.

“You really don’t see spaces like this anymore,” Nelson sighed. “It’s impressive.”

“And don’t they know it,” Roger muttered. “Flaunting it with these glass elevators to remind us all of that fact.”

“Look babe,” Tony turned Sean by the shoulder to reveal a thin track of some sort running down the inboard side of the elevator.

“Yes of course,” Sean muttered into his recorder. “Electromagnetic technology. The tracks run between the elevators out of sight. The elevators themselves must be encased in a vacuum tube… This thing must suck a lot of power. Note to self to run calculations.”

The atrium disappeared, and the view facing aft changed to the more typical elevator lobbies.

“Well I guess that was-” Roger trailed off as he turned toward the forward end of the elevator. Silber followed his gaze out over an even grander five-level atrium. The forward wall boasted a shimmering concrete panel. Centered on the gray slab, the twelve points of a clock jutted out from the shimmery surface, they were black and highlighted by concealed lights. The concrete wall ended about a deck and a half from the bottom, but the shimmer continued into a plant-filled fountain next to a lounge area.

“Another waterfall,” Sean’s analytical observations broke the silence. “Also magnetically controlled…”

“All this concrete…” Tony chimed in. “Has got to weigh… Tons.”

“I wonder if the composite material isn’t so light that the weight of the interior is no object?” Silber mused. “Or if, as Roger said, it’s magic.”

“I doubt that,” Nelson cut in. “Whoever Mr. Robért is, is clearly a genius.”

Ding-ding! The soft chime sounded again as the elevator came to a gentle stop halfway down.

“Going down? Perfect.” Silber turned to acknowledge the newcomer, a slender young man in his early or mid-thirties wearing a tailored white suit with blue satin trim. In his hand was a glass of Kir.

“You all must be going to the engine room tour,” he said upon noticing the button pushed. “Me too.”

The elevator doors whooshed shut and the journey down continued. The immense lower atrium was soon gone.

“This must be your first cruise on the V3,” the stranger observed as he took a sip of his drink.

“Yes,” Silber answered. “It’s all very impressive.”

The stranger smiled, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Americans.”

“Not all of us,” Nelson protested, taking a step toward Tony.

“Americans, a Brit, and an Italian embarked at Genoa. So you’re with the Yacht Club, how charming.”

Silber found this classy young man impossible to read. “How did you know?”

“Process of elimination!” He replied. “You’re not dressed as businessmen. You wouldn’t believe how much that narrows it down. Which is a relief, I must confess. It’s nice to see some real passengers aboard for once.”

‘Real passengers?’ Silber and Roger exchanged glances. What on earth was that supposed to mean?

Ding!

The doors opened once again.

The stranger stepped out. “The tour starts just this way,” he pointed down a short corridor.

“Sean? You coming?” Silber noticed Sean staying back from the group.

“I know him. Where do I know this guy from?” Sean was muttering. “He’s not from the yacht club, right?”

“No,” Tony shook his head. “I’ve never seen him there. Maybe from Turin?”

Sean clenched his jaw into a smile. “Nope. I know I’ve seen him somewhere… It’ll come to me.”

The linoleum floor of the elevator lobby gave way to terracotta tiles as the corridor curved aft. Voices could be heard just ahead.

“Ahoy! Silber, over here!” Roger waved from across the hallway. “You were in front of me, how the hell did you get-”

“Nevermind that. We’re here now.” Silber pocketed the schedule and deck plans. “Where’s our new friend? The tour should be starting any minute.”

The Lower Forward Viewing Room had all the spartan charm of a hospital waiting room. Plain concrete walls, white ceiling with spotlight lights, large rectangular brick tiles for the floor. A long bench ran along the forward bulkhead, its metal frame bolted to the wall. Several matching chairs lined the other walls.

At the aft end was a stepped platform leading to a large window, which for now was obscured by an eager crowd of men wearing suits. Silber recognized the British trio from the gangway. They all wore tags bearing the Rolls-Royce logo. Another group of engineers from Japan crowded the window, calmly circling by the window and pointing with their high-tech phones.

The lights dimmed as the elegant young man from the elevator stepped onto a platform just to the side of the window.

“Welcome!” He announced, graciously acknowledging the waiting crowd. “My name is Martin, I’ll be leading this tour.” He spoke clearly, with a classy lilt and a mild French accent. “Before I get into the details, I must first explain some of the materials used and their unique properties…” He paused to allow the Japanese translator to keep pace. Then continued:

“Tatinite is a pure metallic element that bridges the noble and the conductive metals. In its basic form, it is dozens of times stronger than any known titanium alloy and lighter than lithium. When tempered, it may increase its strength while gaining both magnetic and or conductive qualities. It is immune to the usual weaknesses, acids, bases, heat, radiation, as well as a remarkable resilience to shock.

“ArachniLite is a composite comprised of Tatinite of various tempers, graphene, void spaces, and fiberglass. These layers may vary depending on the application. ArachniLite forms the hull, structural bulkheads, and superstructures of the V-class. It is a fraction of the weight of any carbon fiber composites, and inherently strong enough for ice breaker certification. The insulated graphene layers allow the free flow of electricity negating the need for wires, switchboards, or other traditional electrical systems. Similarly, air and water are pumped ionically through the magnetic void layers, eliminating the need for unsightly pipes, trucking, and noisy pumping equipment.

“The V-class takes advantage of all this, and the savings in weight and space are passed on to you, our guests. Bigger suites, more deck space, more storage space for wine and champagne…”

Scattered chuckles swept the room.

“And of course, this wireless, pumpless system is applied to the engine blocks, which are made of solid Tatinite…” Martin gestured to the window, where the now-famous engine blocks sat in a pristine white room. Two V-8 engine blocks sat supported several feet off the floor by a pair of double A-frames. Nestled atop the massive main engine blocks sat two smaller high-speed V-8 blocks. Each block was served by square metallic ducts from the floor, and topped by metallic exhaust ducts.

“The V1’s main engines are V-10’s,” Sean called out as he compared a photo to the view through the window. “These are V-8’s and look smaller?”

“Why yes, actually.” Martin seemed taken aback, but he smiled. “Good eye. The main cylinders are twenty centimeters shorter, and slightly more elliptical than those on the V1 and V2. This offers greater efficiency for the three-stroke cycle.”

Sean’s eyes sparkled. “So the main engines are also three-stroke, not just the high speed?”

“Correct again.” Martin beamed.

“Three-stroke?” Roger repeated. “How…? That seems to defy geometric sense.”

Martin smiled patiently. “Yes, I admit it’s a tough one to explain. It combines the desired traits of both two-stroke and four-stroke layouts, providing efficiency of motion and fuel, whilst retaining the power. Tolerances must be perfect, and it’s only possible with Tatinite.”

Roger and Nelson peered through the window, taking in as much as they could.

“There’s no access,” Roger pointed out. “How is maintenance performed, or oil checks?”

Martin smiled. “Due to the high tolerances of the machinery, the pristine conditions of the vacuum-sealed room, and the indestructible nature of Tatinite… Well… There is simply no need. But in the event it ever is, there are magnetic robots sealed in the room that can carry out such tasks. See here.”

A small silver robot shaped like an inverted ‘T’ slid smoothly away from the far bulkhead and wooshed up to the window. Several tools folded out of its body like a Swiss army knife.

Roger gazed in awe. “Now wait… If the room is vacuum sealed, how does combustion happen?”

All eyes turned curiously to Martin, who was swirling his glass in expectation.

“The oxygen is fed through void tubes within the Tatinite. The chambers are completely air-tight, allowing for the combustion ratios to be precisely controlled. The fuel is similarly pumped and controlled.”

“Where are the fuel tanks?” Nelson asked, noticing the lack of physical space on the lower deck schematic.

“The V3 carries all her diesel fuel in specially designated vacuum-sealed void spaces under the floor and in the bilge keels, where it is kept in a gel form until being automatically dispensed for use.”

“So it’s a biodiesel, then?” Sean pressed for clarification, holding his voice recorder at the ready.

“Yes. We process our own blend in Toulon, mostly from olive oil and other plant oils otherwise deemed excess or unsuitable for other use. Of course, the engines are able to run on just about anything, regular diesel, kerosene, Champagne… The computer simply adjusts the ratios for ideal combustion. But the biodiesel’s ability to be stored as a gel, and cleanest emission made it the prime choice to power the V-class.”

“I see…” Roger blinked. He looked a little overwhelmed, but his eyes were filled with a hunger for more information.

Martin raised his eyebrows. “A lot to think about, yes? Well, there’s plenty of time…” He went on to elaborate additional benefits of the vacuum sealed room, including heat dissipation, noise elimination, weight reduction, miniscule improvements in mechanical movement sans air resistance, and the novel three-stroke cycle. Sean continued to press for details on the V3’s engine performance versus the V1 and V2. Details that left even Roger struggling to follow.

Silber noticed the contingency from Japan spoke in hushed whispers, nodding and pointing into the room. Their phones flashed constantly, though they asked very few questions.

“They wouldn’t,” Nelson explained. “They’re the ones who’ve come the closest to replicating this engine. It’s too expensive for any hope of a production model, but by all accounts is a very reliable machine.”

“You’re right,” Sean agreed. “No, they’re not here for the engine. They’ll be far more interested in the computer that controls it.”

Right on cue, Martin could be heard telling the group’s translator that “there was a better window to view the computer, which was the next stop on the tour…”

Silber’s gaze lingered through the window as the group continued around the corner. Several more windows lined the way, allowing additional viewing of the engine blocks from the side. The little silver robot waved cheerily from inside until the group was out of sight around the aft bulkhead.

Built directly into the center of the bulkhead, between the casings for the crankshafts, was a rather simple-looking control board with several screens and light indicators.

“This is the main panel for the Engine Control Computer,” Martin announced. “All the data for the engine performance, fuel rate consumption, power output, it’s all monitored and controlled here. By this supercomputer. You’ll notice there are few things different…”

“No manual controls,” Sean called out with no hesitation. “Not even an emergency shut off button.”

“Correct,” Martin smirked. “This engine doesn’t need it, nor does the computer.”

“What!? That’s…” Roger bit his tongue, recalling the numerous reports published from the V1’s trials. Testing was so extensive the new superyachts were almost four years old by the time they were allowed to commence passenger service.

The Japanese contingency murmured to each other. Their translator turned to address Martin:

“May we see it closer?”

“Of course,” Martin gestured welcomingly towards the panel, bowing his head respectfully. The group, hardly able to contain their excitement, quickly filed up to the panel, cameras at the ready.

“After all, where’s the harm?” Martin mused aloud to no one in particular. Upon seeing Sean, Roger, and Silber nearby, he took a sip from his glass. “The engines have been tested thoroughly, I assure you they are perfectly safe under all circumstances. And yes, they can actually be run on Champagne. 98.48% efficiency, slightly better with high quality labels.”

“That’s new…” Sean muttered into his notes. “Even the machinery has Champagne tastes.”

“There seems…” Roger began cautiously. “To be a great reliance on automation and computer control. It… Isn’t what I’m used to. But then again, machines like this… Aren’t what I’m used to.”

“Automation is required for the precision and complexity of the engine’s operation,” Martin explained. “No human mind can think fast enough. The machine would lose efficiency if it were to be treated like an ordinary powerplant. Naturally, the benefit of an all-automated control is that it can be integrated with the electrical generators and propulsion system. The program running it all is a supercomputer so advanced it’s considered a military secret.”

“They’ve claimed that this installation…” Roger’s eyes seemed to get stuck on the wall where the casing for the starboard high speed shaft met its dynamo. “Is so efficient that it… Uh…”

“Rivals that of nuclear-powered vessels,” Sean finished. “All three members of the V-class have proven that claim true. So what exactly makes the V3 so much more improved?”

“It was difficult to improve upon the perfection achieved with the V1 and V2…” Martin reflected. “These engines are so efficient, that fully laden the ship carries enough fuel to operate for five years before needing to refuel. Whoever would have believed that a diesel engine could match a nuclear one? Yet here we are!”

“But… You have,” Nelson suggested. “Haven’t you?”

“There really isn’t much,” Martin relented with a proud smirk. “Most of the V3’s superior performance stats are the result of hull design improvements.”

Sean nodded. “That’s what I thought…”

“Still…” Roger said to air as his eyes roamed across the machinery casings. “This ship represents the height of diesel technology. An unprecedented pinnacle, the zenith-! W-where do we go from here?”

“Who knows…” Silber, Nelson, Sean, and Tony exchanged unknowing glances as they continued to gawk at the computer panel.

 

Martin shrugged off a coy smile as he took a sip from his glass.

 

The North Atlantic, off Nova Scotia…

“God I’m bored!”

“Hungry.”

“And I haven’t jacked off in a week!”

“MMMPHH! MmmHMMPH!”

“Yeah yeah, aren’t we all…”

“Matthews, shut the fuck up!”

“Guys, guys, come on,” Jake Jackson interjected. “We’re all in this together, chill out.”

“Yeah, tough guy?” Shane Matthews shot back. “And what exactly do you propose we do to pass the time?”

“Easy Matthews,” Brent Charles warned. “Don’t provoke the Marine…”

“I think we just need some… Proper entertainment.” Jackson smirked.

Nathan Vincent nodded with a knowing smile, winking at Joe Bennett beside him.

“Yeah… Jackson’s right. TAKE IT OFF!”

 

Amid lewd laughter and whistles, Jackson stood up from the bunk and slowly swung his hips. A sultry smile crept across his handsome face. With a wink, he jumped to the side and twerked furiously.

“Yeah, Jackson!” Matthews and Charles led the cheering. “Fucking sex on a stick!”

Not to be outdone, Vincent rose to his feet and swaggered up to his fellow Marine. He ground against Jackson’s voluptuous rear, giving it a firm swat.

“Hey man, don’t steal my show here!” Jackson teased as he firmly pushed Vincent back onto his bunk with Bennett.

“Damn dude!” Vincent laughed as he put his arms around Bennett.

Bennett and Clark were both silent, hypnotized by the gyrations of Jackson’s gorgeous ass.

“Jackson’s got the best behind,” Vincent shouted over the catcalls and whoops. “Our drill instructors at Parris called him ‘Peach’ after the first day!”

A jolt ran through the ship, throwing off Jackson’s rhythm.

“Oh yeah, almost forgot where we actually are…” Matthews sighed.

“Hey sailor,” Jackson grooved his way over to Matthews, lifting his chin with a gentle finger. “Let me cheer you up…” His hips continued to move in a fluid, teasing manner. He reached up and began to slowly undo the buttons of his working blouse.

“Ha! You got a stripper!” Charles boomed, clapping Matthews on the back. “Now after him, I want a lap dance!”

Jackson gave Charles a wink as his blouse fell from his shoulders. His core was so solid, every one of his abs could be clearly seen through his undershirt!

Bennett drooled at the sight of Jackson’s body as it was slowly revealed.

“Hey baby, don’t forget about me!” Vincent teased, tracing Bennett’s jaw with the back of his finger.

“You’ll just have to dance like that for me sometime,” Bennett tore his eyes from Jackson’s ass. “But you know- HEY!”

Vincent was equally mesmerized by the way Jackson could move! His eyes were glazed over, and he kneaded at his firm bulge.

Bennett chuckled.

“Oh fine. Free pass, this one time.” He gave Vincent a quick kiss on the cheek. “You know I love you.”

Jackson’s dancing was suddenly interrupted as another wave pounded the ship. The horny Marine tumbled back, landing hard on his voluptuous glutes.

“What the-?” Matthews started before the room lurched onto its side, flinging them all against the bulkhead.

Bennett and Vincent tumbled out of their bunk clinging to each other. Vincent landed on top, knocking the wind out of both of them with a simultaneous “uff!”

The ship’s alarm sounded for a split second before ominously cutting out with sharp squawk.

Thunderous crashes resonated through the walls as the huge carrier tossed about in the waves.

“Like a bucking bull at a fucking rodeo…” Charles muttered as he pulled himself off the floor.

“We all ok?” Bennett squeaked from under the muscular bulk of his Marine.

“Yeah,” Matthews said, dodging a foot locker sliding past him against the wall.

“This is insane.” Vincent fumed as he brushed himself off. “Enough is enough. I will fix this with-”

“Your big Marine Corp superiority? Ego? Or you gonna go topside and show the storm the true meaning of power?”

“No, Matthews. I’m going to fix this with my big smart Marine Corp brain,” Vincent had carried Bennett back to his bunk and set him down. He then began collecting every piece of rope and webbing he could find.

“What brain?” Matthews mused as he and Charles put the room back in order.

“The hell is he thinking?” Charles asked Matthews.

“Well you see here boys,” Vincent mansplained. “Clark here isn’t getting thrown around like a cheap whore because he’s secured properly. So the answer is simple! We tie ourselves, and everything movable, down. If we can.”

“Oh that is a good idea babe!” Bennett started twisting a sheet into a rope.

Matthews and Charles looked at each other, refusing to admit their own oversight to the same solution. They quickly joined the effort.

“Hey Nate,” Jackson turned to his fellow Marine. “We got that trunk of belts back in with the spare uniforms. Think we can use that?”

“Oh yeah, perfect!” Vincent nodded. “Yeah, why don’t you go get that quick, before everyone else has the same idea!”

Jackson and Vincent bumped fists with a mutual “Ooh rah!”

“Be right back, guys.” Jackson pulled his blouse back on and stepped carefully out of the room, but not before getting slammed against the doorframe by another unexpected lurch of the ship.

“Mmmhmm hpphh!?” Clark grunted from his bunk.

“You sit tight, sweet thing,” Charles called to him. “You’re far safer how you are now.”

“HMMPHH…” Clark pouted through his gag, pulling against the ropes in a renewed effort to free himself.

Vincent, Bennett, Matthews, and Charles soon had the entire room rigged, securing tables, chairs, foot lockers, trunks, anything that wasn’t bolted in place. They’d fashioned body harnesses for themselves, and grablines to cross the room.

“There!” Vincent announced proudly when they’d finished. “Now we’ll be safe.” He climbed back into Bennett’s bunk, checking the knots that secured them.

The ship was still pitching and heeling wildly. Shouts and crashes could be heard over the constant groaning and screeching of the hull.

Flight Deck Officer Stewart trudged up to the door carrying a megaphone.

“Men, how are things on…” He trailed off upon seeing the impromptu system of supports crisscrossing the room, various states of undress, a Marine, and dollar bills and playing cards scattered all over the floor. His eyes settled on Clark, bound gagged and naked for the clear purpose of sexual entertainment. A bulge quickly formed in his own pants.

“Right, right…” Stewart nodded to himself, holding himself on the doorframe for support. “Right, you men have secured yourselves, demonstrating foresight, smarts, teamwork, and cool heads. A-and even practiced your knots. Excellent work.”

Stewart quickly turned to hide his blush and continued his way up the corridor, fighting gravity and the forces of momentum.

“Hooo! That was lucky,” Charles laughed. “Did you see his bulge? He liked what he saw here!” Charles squeezed Clark’s left buttock teasingly. Clark turned red in the face.

“MM hmmph… Mph mmph mrghm hmm.”

“Heh. Maybe he’ll come back when he’s off duty…”

“HMMPH! FHMMPHM!”

“Shut up.” Charles doubleslapped Clark’s rump lightly and turned back to the rest of the room. “I’ve lost my cards…”

“I think that cards are off the table,” Matthews stated as the ship rolled back the other way, making the random loose debris on the floor slide against the opposite wall. “What next?”

Charles grinned as he remembered their bet. His eyes lingered on Clark’s invitingly tight bubble butt in the next bunk.

“How about we arm wrestle for him?”

Matthews shook his head.

“You know we’re not evenly matched.”

“Well I’m hard, ready, and more undressed. I’ll just go for it.” Charles climbed up his bunk.

“Now hold on just a damn minute!” Matthews blocked Charles’ progress. “I was winning. This ass is mine.” He reached over and gave Clark’s ass a possessive slap.

“Mmmm! Hmmpff-mmph!” Clark protested. “MMMM!!”

Vincent and Bennett watched from their bunk, working each other’s boners through the fabric of their uniforms. Vincent kissed Bennett’s cheek.

“This is better than porn,” he whispered in Bennett’s ear.

“Live show just for us,” Bennett agreed as Charles and Matthews wrestled next to the bunk. The two muscular deckhands glistened with sweat, their thick boners bulging with pent-up frustration.

Another roll of the ship caused Charles to stumble. Matthews fell forward on top of him.

“Fuck, maybe I’ll just fuck you instead, big boy!” Matthews smirked. Charles flipped him.

“I’d like to see you try. I’m gonna-” Matthews cut him off with a kiss.

“Oho, so that’s how you want it to be. Alright.” Charles hoisted Matthews up in his arms like a bitch. He carried him over to his bunk, awkwardly leaning against the slope of the floor. His feet narrowly keeping them upright.

“You know we aren’t both going to fit on your bunk, fatass…” Matthews jumped out of Charles’ arms. “But how about we-AAH!”

Without warning, the carrier picked up speed and reared like a terrified stallion. It was like a plane lifting from the ground during take-off, until it suddenly twisted to starboard and stopped abruptly. Bennett saw Flight Deck Officer Stewart fall past their door, shortly followed by a sickening thud against the huge steel door blocking the hall.

All at once, the lights failed without so much as a flicker. A long, low unholy cacophony of metallic screeching, crashing, and rumbling rolled through the ship. And then silence. Even the pounding of the waves on the hull and whistling wind ceased temporarily.

The 101,000 ton carrier was suspended in a freefall. Bennett even felt weightless for a couple seconds. His back was shoved into his mattress with great force, and he lay in Vincent’s arms in quiet anticipation.

A terrified whimper finally escaped through Clark’s gag, breaking the silence.

“It’s alright,” Matthews spoke breathlessly through the darkness. “The emergency lights will come on in just a few seconds… ”

4,300 men held their breath in expectation.

The emergency lights never came on. The backup generators never kicked in. The familiar hum of the ship’s massive engines never restarted. But the silence didn’t last long. Metallic creaking, banging, and shearing noises soon dominated the soundscape. The ship slowly turned and listed to one side, gradually settling at a 20-degree list.

“We’re broadside,” Charles stated calmly. “We’re being pushed by the wind. The flight deck at this angle is nothing more than a gigantic sail.”

“We’ll be alright. We will. They… They’ll fix this.” Matthews said confidently. “Or the wind will just blow us out into the ocean.”

“Or into the rocks of Nova Scotia.” Charles stated glumly. “If we were north of the eye, and didn’t drift as much…” Charles swallowed his words, mumbling inaudibly to himself.

Bennett hugged Vincent tighter. Vincent wrapped his thick legs protectively around Bennett’s, petting his chest calmingly. Bennett’s eyes had adjusted enough in the dark to see Vincent’s face looking toward the door.

“Jake should have been back by now,” Vincent murmured. “I hope he’s okay.”

“He’s a Marine!” Bennett barked. “Of course he’s okay.”

“Duh,” Vincent smiled. “Nice bark, baby.”

Bennett blushed and rested his head against Vincent’s shoulder, tuning out the various noises of the ship creaking like an old wooden chair.

“We’ll all be alright… I hope.”

To be continued …