Kurt moved closer to the main pipes. A layer of frost clung to them and spread across the bulkhead wall. He tapped a pipe with his fingers. It was incredibly cold.
They certainly weren’t pumping oil.
He found a bank of controls and a computer screen. The readout said:
Whatever was going on down there, it was being controlled from up above. He didn’t dare mess with it. He probably couldn’t get in anyway, and just trying would almost certainly alert the bridge crew to his presence.
He moved back to the door and put his ear against it. Hearing nothing other than the hum of the engine and various generators, he opened it.
He made his way back to the stairwell and headed deeper. He decided to skip a few levels and literally get to the bottom of things.
He’d climbed down two flights when a clanking sound stopped him in his tracks.
A quick glance over the railing showed a hand two flights below, sliding along the railing and coming up. He heard voices, and feet lazily pounding the stairs.
“… All I know is, he wants full power brought up and maintained,” one man was saying.
“But there isn’t even another ship nearby,” a second voice said.
“Don’t ask me,” the first man said, “but something’s going on. We’ve never gone to a hundred percent before.”
Kurt wanted to hear more, but he couldn’t wait around. He moved to the landing closest to him and went through the door, closing it behind him as quickly and quietly as he could.
The machinery was louder on this deck, and Kurt reckoned he was right above the engine room. He pressed himself against the wall, one eye on the door to his right, one eye on the hallway to his left.
The footsteps continued up toward his level. He could still hear that the men were talking but could no longer make out the words. He felt relieved when the footsteps rounded the corner and went higher.
Then suddenly the door swung open and stayed that way.
“Hey, don’t say anything,” the man holding the door shouted back to his friend, who was continuing up the stairs, “but I’m ready to get off this tub the next time we dock.”
The man continuing up the stairs laughed. “At least until you blow all your money, right?”
Kurt stared at the door.
The man was standing in the doorway, hand on the open door and his back to Kurt, as he continued his conversation with the man on the stairs. Kurt needed him to go back out or come on in. But standing there was anything but ideal.
Laughing at his friend’s joke, the man turned, stepped into the hall, and came face-to-face with the business end of Kurt’s Beretta and its silencer.
“Don’t even blink,” Kurt whispered. He waved the man in.
The crewman was a thin Caucasian with a Mediterranean look about him. He had short curly hair and a tanned and lined face from too much sun over the years, though he couldn’t have been more than thirty-five.
The man did as Kurt ordered and shut the door behind him.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“I’m a gremlin,” Kurt said. “Haven’t you ever met one before?”
“A gremlin?”
“Yeah, we sneak around, screw things up. Generally make a nuisance of ourselves.”
The man gulped nervously. “Are you going to kill me?”
“Not unless you make me,” Kurt said. “Come on.” Kurt nodded down the hall. “Let’s find you a nice place to rest.”
The man moved in front of Kurt and walked slowly. He made no false moves, but Kurt knew that could change at any second. At the end of the hall another door beckoned.