Ship Chart Novels & Stories

the intercom continued. I looked outside. Water had washed up over the deck, splashing between the railings, and now drained back out into the ocean. Of course the deck was closed. Who would want to be outside in that anyway? Taking a staggering step forward, I started my way to the room. It might be better to sleep through all of this, anyway. I reached into my purse and pulled out the card Christopher gave me. 311. Wherever that was. Navigating the ship wasn’t as hard as I thought, there were signs everywhere and staff helping to direct the panicked crowd.

Hugo, standing next to Damian, added, "We're dealing with the big guys. If this stuff falls into the wrong hands, we're all finished." The bald man swallowed, then signaled to his men. A thin but sharp-eyed man approached, carrying a tablet. "We have prepared the safest shipping route. Tonight, the ship will depart from the southern port, enter through the rat lines at the border, and reach the owner without interruption." Damian watched the tablet screen carefully. The shipping map looked neat and detailed. There was no room for betrayal, at least so far. "Good," Damian finally said, then looked directly into the man's eyes. "But remember, if there's even the slightest mistake..."

So when the time came for Price to take command and chose an XO, the choice wasn't hard to make. "We've got some results from one of the search parties that boarded a smaller ship, the one-and-a-half kilometer sized one. They have found what appears to be recognition charts. The language is unclear still and needs to be decrypted, but if the scale and size of these charts are correct, than we are not the biggest fish in the sea." "What do you mean?" "Most of the ships here in this field are between just under one km in length, up to two kilometers. But a few here seem to be significantly larger, and they're not even the largest."

Meeting: Rowling stood at the bow of the ship watching the cliff as the pulled into Raven’s Peak two other ships trailed behind him. Rowling's ship was a deep dark cherrywood, he had liked the cherry color of it because it reminded him of blood stained wood. He wanted the fear aspect to be in everything he did. His sails were a deep dark blood red and his personal flag was white with a sword hanging above a headless man’s body. He even named the ship Trepidation. It was written on the side of the ship in deep dark bold letters.

Soon enough, the waters were bathed in another yellow glow, faint though, as the servant put up the lamps. The sunset reminded Charles of the day they had spent on the hill, when she had drunk above her limit and called him her love. His lips tugged. She made him incredibly happy and he hoped he could make her half as happy. Perhaps a gift. Then he remembered. He turned to Brand. "When is your next voyage?" Brand turned to face the inside of the ship, resting on the rail. "As soon as we return, if my mind so permits. Why?" Still looking afar off, Charles said. "Make a journal of your travels for Beth. I will give it to her."

The stars appeared one at a time, slowly at first, then all at once the way they do when you’ve been paying attention long enough. I pulled up a navigation chart on my phone. The real kind. The kind I used at sea to orient myself when everything else went dark. She leaned over to look at it, pressing her sandy finger against the screen. “Which one is ours?” she asked. “Stars don’t belong to people.” “Everything belongs to someone.” She studied the chart with complete seriousness. “Pick one anyway.” I pointed at one without thinking about it. I couldn’t tell you now which one it was.

Kai I smooth out the yellowing, folded maps along the flat surface of the ship’s gear control. Almost nobody has navigated these waters since these were drawn, probably a good seventy years ago. Maybe more. But I’ve programmed all the information into the sophisticated navigational equipment aboard the Zephyr, the ship I’ve been using for my ambassador voyages around the Crimson Sea. So far, my trips have been successful, netting enough trade agreements to keep the merchants at home busy.

A heavy laugh escaped Emmeline. Her gaze moved between the two screens on the dashboard - one showing maps and the other displaying fuel and water gauges. "It's easy enough to navigate the river with the clear paths and city visible on the banks. But what if you were piloting a yacht at sea? How do you memorize all those shipping routes?" Zavian held her waist, chin resting atop her head. "There are maps on the dashboard, it's not difficult to follow them." Emmeline let her dramatic sideshow, craning her head back to look up at his face. "But what if the maps break when you're out at sea? Could you differentiate the directions and find your way back? At least roads are clearly marked on land

I took my morning coffee at the window every day at six thirty. Today I was not looking at the view. I was looking at a map. Spread across the suite's dining table were shipping route diagrams, port operator contracts, and customs compliance records covering the entire Eastern Seaboard from Maine to Virginia. Color-coded by priority. Annotated by hand in my own writing because certain things should not be typed. The maritime shipping alliance I had signed this week was the foundation. But the foundation was only useful if I understood exactly what was built on top of it.

I can see the plan I drew on the map as clearly as if it were etched into my eyelids. Vector One: The Ghost Fleet. In my mind, I see the three speedboats cutting through the black water off Pantelleria. They are running dark. No lights. No transponders. Just the roar of engines and the spray of salt. They are the bait. I imagine the Corsican spotters on the ridge seeing the wake. I imagine the radio call. Target acquired. The shipment is unprotected. I smile in the darkness. They think they are hunting a fat, slow cargo ship. They don't know they are chasing smoke.