Edited by 'Beth, with my great thanks!

Sea Shepherd
Chapter Two: Monkey Wrench

MacGyver was sitting on the edge of a bunk in the closet that was used for sickbay aboard the Sierra, holding an icepack to his forehead. When the doctor—if a doctor he was at all; an oily, taciturn fellow with clammy, white hands—went out of the hatch, Mac saw Knut waiting outside.

The harpooner grinned at MacGyver as he stepped inside, yet there was a sober look in the man’s eyes suggested to Mac he wasn’t really amused by the circumstances.

“Feeling better, ja? Bump on the head, it can make a man lose his stomach.”

“So can being bathed in blood,” MacGyver mumbled frankly. “But I guess the concussion doesn’t help.” MacGyver swallowed, closing his eyes as a wave of nausea that had nothing to do with his head swept through him again. He pressed the icepack more firmly, until the pain there made everything else fade in to the background.

Knut nodded. “I see it before. This is your first hunt, ja? I can tell.” He sat down on another bunk. “I am Knut.”

“Call me Mac.” MacGyver offered a handshake; Knut grasped his forearm instead, giving him a comradely greeting.

“I have hunted the whale for many years. With time, it gets easier; you learn not to look in the eyes.” Knut scrutinized MacGyver closely. “Is something more… you are not whaler at all,” he observed.

“No, I’m not. I had no idea that this was a whaling ship—until about half an hour ago.”

“Sierra, she has the slip-stern, the harpoon cannon on the bow,” Knut dropped his voice, glancing around cautiously. “How could you not know?”

MacGyver sighed. “I confess that I didn't look the ship over before I signed on... I just needed a ship to get to carry me to Spain and the pickings were slim. Besides, I thought that it was illegal to hunt whales in international waters.”

Knut's face became grim. “There are no courtrooms on the sea.”

“Still, if I had known, I’d have made other arrangements.”

“Well, there is no ‘making arrangements’ now. Our captain… he won’t like knowing that you balk at the kill—“Knut shook his head. “He’s already fuming about the poor luck we’ve had this voyage. When he learns that you don’t belong here… he will think you are spy.”

“I’m no spy, but I agree with you—I don’t belong here. I can hardly wait for us to put in at Leixões.”

Knut frowned. “You may find that you have a wait ahead of you, my friend. We will not make port until the holds are full… and that will take some time. It may be some weeks before you see land.”

“Weeks? But they said… when I signed on, that we were bound for Portugal!”

“Eventually… maybe. If captain chooses to. You may just as easy find yourself in Iceland. Our captain, he doesn’t care much about making crew happy.”

“Oh, god,” Mac mumbled, “There must be some other way off this ship!”

“There is… but you would not like it, I’m thinking.” Knut grinned again; his teeth were bright white against his weather-tanned skin. “It is a long swim, and these waters are not friendly. Keep to the engine room… and keep away from the captain… is all you can do, I think.”

“What about you,” Mac asked. “You’re the first person on this tub that’s given me the time of day… or that I’d want to ask. But as First Mate, isn’t it your responsibility to tell the captain about me?”

“My responsibility is the harpoon. I do not choose to be First Mate; I feel as if I am the one being hunted, yes?” Knut’s grin faded. “If not for the captain, I am sure I’d be throat-cut and tossed to the sharks by crewman wanting my job.”

“The captain protects you?”

“No.” Knut chuckled. “He is bigger target.”

“This is no way to live, Knut.” MacGyver lowered the icepack and said, “I’m not really sure why you’re telling me all this… I’m grateful for your friendship.”

Knut shrugged. “This is a cold business. I cannot call any of these men ‘friend’. They would sink the knife as soon as the back turns! But when I see you suffering, I knew you are not like them.”

“I can see that you are not like them, either, Knut… but I wonder how you can make a living like this.”

“This has been my life since I was child. I learned from my father and grandfather at sea. They make Captain Nordengen seem like… how you say in American… um, pussy-cat!” Knut laughed dryly, then added in a more serious tone, “When you can do a thing—and do it better than any other man—it is difficult to stop doing it. The heart sometimes wants change… but the head and the hands…” Knut made a juggling motion with his hands, “they like to do what they know.

“Still, you never guess what the future will bring, eh? Tomorrow things may change… whether we want them to or not.” Knut stood up and walked to the exit. “I fix the harpoon gun now… I tell Captain that you are not well. I think he will not seek you here… he does not like the sickbay.”

“Knut,” the Norwegian turned at the sound of MacGyver's voice, “Would the captain really promote a man to your job if that man killed you?”

“Why not? A ship must have a First Mate. Nordengen… that is how he became captain, ja?” With a wink, Knut left MacGyver alone.

⌂

When MacGyver returned to the engine room, Hüdke the third engineer took one look at him and laughed around a mouthful of chewing tobacco.

“What happened to you, Yank?”

MacGyver touched his bruised forehead ruefully. “Wrong place… wrong time.”

“Well, that’s what you get for going topside during a hunt,” Hüdke chortled, choked, and then spat on the floor. He thrust a large wrench toward MacGyver. “Number two is hiccupping again… take this spanner and see what you can do to smooth ‘er out.”

“If Chief Engineer Rynn sees you spitting on the floor,” Mac said as he accepted the tool, “he’ll make you scrub the walkways with a toothbrush. Again.”

“Arrogant b*stard,” Hüdke began to spit again, but thought better of it. His cheek twitched as he swallowed. “This is an engine room…not a galley! Why does it have to be clean enough to eat off of blisterin’ floor?” Mac didn’t answer him, but Hüdke didn’t notice; he continued to ramble and swear, “If’n it’s not one damned thing, it’s another! First the fuel tanks get seawater in ‘em and I have to dump a sh*t-load of diesel, and now the stinking engines are shaking themselves apart. And what is that b*tard Rynn doing? Sitting in his office playing with his radio and getting drunk! Chief engineer, my ass!”

“How did seawater get into the fuel tanks?”

“How the hell do I know? I’m just the second engineer! Go ask the Chief— the stupid limey snot-hole—he knows everything!”

“Yeah, okay… whatever.” Anything to stay busy, Mac thought. And anything to get out of a conversation with Hüdke; the man’s vocabulary of racist slurs was second only in vileness to the overwhelming stench of his unwashed body.

“Hurry up,” was Hüdke’s response as he wandered away. Mac waved a hand in front of his face, fanning away the rank odor. He knelt next to the number two engine and removed the access cover panel.

The panels were kept in place to protect the engines, but they were never locked. Chief Engineer Rynn hated to be disturbed by people constantly coming to him for keys. So the only thing kept under lock and key in the engine room was the liquor in Rynn's office. There was a rule against having liquor on board, of course, but the Chief enjoyed exercising his privileges. As long as the engine crew did their work, kept the engine room clean, and didn’t interrupt him while he was drinking his scotch and listening to a game, he pretty much allowed them to do whatever they wished. He certainly had no problem with his new assistant engineer working all the time; he was rarely sober enough to notice, truth to tell.

MacGyver lifted the panel away and set it aside. He watched to gears and belts turning, listening to the sound of the engine as it chugged along. He could hear the problem; a catch in the rhythm as the pistons fired and a deep rattle that should not be there.

Frowning, Mac shut down the engine. He lay on his back and wormed his way beneath until only his feet were visible, sticking out of the access.

Using a penlight he carried in his pocket, Mac checked over all the parts of the engine. He’d just serviced this one the day before, and he knew that everything should be working smoothly.

It didn’t take him long to find the problem. Diesel oil dripped from the edge of the machine; all the bolts around it were loose enough to turn with bare fingers. Grumbling, MacGyver tightened all the bolts. He'd had that engine apart yesterday, and he was sure that he'd put them all on good and tight when he'd finished. Someone must have loosened them deliberately!

Mac squirmed his way out of the engine and refilled the oil that had leaked out. After he tightened the last cap, he set his wrench down on top of the engine housing to wipe away a spill, but when he tried to pick his wrench up again, it stuck to the metal as if by an adhesive.

Mac tugged on it harder; it came free reluctantly. He ran a hand over the metal and felt nothing that would cause it to stick. He placed the wrench there again. It sprang from his fingers with a loud CLANG! and stuck to the panel again.

Curious, he leaned down and peered under the housing. Up inside, under the metal skin of the engine, a large magnet clung. MacGyver reached in and wrestled with it until it came free.

Along with it came a folded piece of paper. Mac wiped his dirty hands on his coverall, gingerly unfolding the paper to see what it was.

Whatever it was, it was written in a language Mac didn't know. Frowning at the paper, he turned it this way and that, trying to guess what it was. Columns of inked words in unfamiliar script scrolled down one side of the page, and next to them a sketchy diagram had been drawn, with more words written in the same language.

Someone had hidden this paper where they thought that no one would find it. Mac wouldn't have found it, if the engine hadn't needed maintenance. Mac knew he should put it back where it was, so that whoever put it there would not know that it had been found, but he also wanted to know what it said.

Deciding quickly, MacGyver replaced the engine panel and hurried back to sickbay.

He peeked quickly around the corner, and when he was sure that there was no one inside, he went in and headed for the exam table.

Like most exam tables, it was covered with a sheet of hygienic paper. Mac pulled the paper down and tore off a square about a foot long. He laid the folded paper he'd found on the hard surface of the doctor's desk and put the square of paper on top of it. With smooth long strokes, he began to run the magnet over the papers.

When he peeled it up, he smiled. The ink had just enough iron oxide in it to be attracted to the magnet, and a faint copy of the writing was mirrored on the sheet. He folded his homemade xerox and carefully hid it inside his clothes. Then he quickly returned to the engine room and replaced the magnet and the folded paper where it had been. He looked around and saw nobody. He hoped that his caper had gone unnoticed.

⌂

MacGyver was eager for a few minutes alone where he could look again at the paper he’d copied, but that was impossible. Before he’d managed to get back to his bunk, a klaxon sounded throughout the ship, summoning all hands to the deck.

Mac scrambled with the other crewmen to assemble. Most had been busy slaughtering the whale; blood stained their clothes and hands. Mac wondered what could have happened that the captain would have interrupted the entire ship for an assembly in the middle of the day… then he saw the other ship.

Off to port and astern of the Sierra, she galloped through the rough seas like a spirited horse in tall grass. She was a trawler, but she wasn’t outfitted for her design. She looked as if she’d been stripped down for speed, and she had it; she gained visibly on the Sierra as Mac was watching.

The whole crew watched, wide-eyed and nervous, as the ship closed the distance between then. Sierra had been riding the water, her engines idle while the last catch was being processed. MacGyver felt the deck vibrate under his shoes as the engines engaged and the ship began to surge through the water. It wasn’t going to help, though; the ship stalking them was already at full speed and continued to gain.

The klaxon was still hooting throughout the ship; Mac looked for the captain, spotted him through the windows of the pilot house. He was shouting at his bridge crew and gesturing wildly. Mac saw Chief Engineer Rynn as he dashed up the steps to report. Nordengen pushed the man toward the radio, still shouting, now covering his ears. Rynn bent over the ships sound system and abruptly the klaxon was silenced.

MacGyver was about to try to edge closer to the wheelhouse in hopes that he could overhear what was being said when the loudspeakers all over the ship crackled loudly and the radio began to broadcast for the entire crew to hear.

“Sierra, Sierra.” A man’s voice, firm and seething with barely controlled anger.

MacGyver saw Nordengen raise the microphone to his bearded lips. “This is the Sierra.”

“Goddamn you, you whale-killing son of a b*tch, your career is going to end today.”

--tbc--

Wow Lothi!
So descriptive and realistic I felt as if I were there!
What a great story!

I appreciate all your hard work and excellent writing. I have only one bit of adivce: Write More! My greed for great fic is insatiable!!

Yes, that is exactly what I thought once I learned on which kind of ship Mac was! This surely is no straight ride from one coast to the other.

And when he thought about a different way off the ship, why did I have immediately Robinson Crusoe before my eyes? I loved this book as a child. Seeing from nowadays, he also was kind of a MacGyver, making all these things from scratch. So, Mac surely should survive.

Can't you find a way to have him landing on a deserted island somehow? Like, they finding out about him and leaving him behind? Oh, my ideas are already running ahead of me (again - *sigh*)...

Great macgyverism, also!

Thanks Kyrian, Astra!

Nothing increases the excitement of a story more than the vivid imaginations of the reader! I am so glad that you're enjoying this one! *glee!*

I completely agree!

Fantastic