They marked its position for possible recovery. Now the hijacked Nebraska was clean and silent once again. Two days later they surfaced eighty miles off of Fiji, in a place where wind and current would carry the lifeboats to the island. The sullen crew loaded the rubber rafts with plenty of food and water, then got in. Major Muzik addressed them in a cheerful booming voice from the bridge at the top of the sail. “Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure hijacking your boat. Remember that you are all now Eden Plague carriers; I suggest you seek asylum when you make landfall if you don’t want to wait for your Unionist masters to send you to one of those concentration camps they claim don’t exist.” Followed by a few salty epithets, he gave a friendly wave, then climbed down the ladder and dogged the hatch shut before descending to the control room. A day later he found Bitzer sleeping in the helmsman’s seat. Colored screens with readouts comprehensible only to a submariner covered the bulkhead in front of him.
