

THE RAFT

or the Case of the Barefoot Detective

by

Christopher Blankley

Copyright © 2013 by Christopher Blankley

Smashwords Edition

other books by Christopher Blankley

The Cordwainer

The Bobbies of Bailiwick

The Bobbies of Bailiwick and the Captive Ocean

Zombpunk: STEM

Zombpunk: ARROW

That Nietzsche Thing

Prologue

Jerry knew he'd never get a good night's sleep until something was done about the Raft.

He sure as hell hadn't gotten one last night and he knew tonight he'd do no better.

Jerry stumbled around his kitchen, making the motions of brewing coffee.

He huffed and paused, defeated by the seal on the coffee can and looked out of the bay windows of his kitchen, out at the panoramic view of the Puget Sound beyond.

Here he was with a front row seat to the Extinction of the American Working Man. Bastards, Jerry cursed at the black shadows of the boats floating out in the water. It was raining, the clouds low and heavy, dumping a sheet of the signature Northwest drizzle over the Sound. But Jerry could still make out the mosquito fleet of tiny craft moored just beyond the shore of his waterfront property. Goddamn Rafters, Jerry cursed again. It was all their fault. Why couldn't the government do something about them?

Linda came out of the bedroom with the dogs in tow. She had their float toys, and they were scampering to snatch them out of her hand. It was time for their morning exercise and Linda was taking them down to the water for a swim. It was their morning ritual, Jerry's wife and the dogs. The dogs would swim for fifteen to twenty minutes, out and back, dutifully retrieving the thrown float toys. They'd do it until they drowned, Jerry was certain, if Linda's arm didn't always tire before the dogs did. They'd come back soaking wet and leave wet paw prints all over the hardwoods. They'd curl up before the pellet stove, lit or not, and pant pools of drool onto the floor.

There was the thunder of dog feet on the stairs down to the basement as Jerry returned to his hapless attempt to make coffee.

Thirty years Jerry had spent at Boeing, welding jumbo jets and the tail assembling for strike fighters. Thirty years on the job and his hard work had bought him his dream home. He'd built it mostly himself, on weekends and vacations. The patch of waterfront property had been the most dear expense. The commanding view of the Puget Sound, and the skyline of Seattle beyond, was worth a pretty penny, at least it was back when Jerry had bought it. Before the Raft. Now those vagabond, good-for-nothing freeloaders were driving the home prices into the toilet, stealing money from honest, hardworking folks like Jerry. Who wanted to spend five to ten million dollars to look out at a cluster of ramshackle, barely seaworthy eyesores? A fleet of tax-dodging hobos. Not even Jerry. But Jerry was stuck with it. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't sell his house. Not with the Raft practically camped out on his shore.

The whole system was upside down. Guys like Jerry couldn't catch a break, but the floating refuse out there could happily shit all over Jerry and no one lifted a finger. Why didn't the government _do_ something? Clean up the mess. Even the courts had told them that they could, that the Rafters didn't have a legal leg to stand on. But still, there they all sat, out in the Puget Sound – and almost every other major body of water in the United States. It was a goddamn social phenomenon. It made Jerry sick.

He finally had the coffee grounds in the machine. He flipped the switch and watched the brewed coffee as it started to trickle into the pot. Linda would want a cup when she returned upstairs with the dogs. It was cold and rainy out there, she'd need a cup to warm her up.

The whole thing was stupid. A stupid loophole some smart aleck thought he'd found in the 2020 revised tax code. The text stated that any US Citizen who failed to set foot on US soil during the preceding tax year was exempt from paying taxes up to a fixed maximum of two hundred thousand dollars.

It was the language that tripped up the IRS: set foot on US soil. Some wise-ass interpreted this loophole to apply not just to US Citizens abroad, but to any US Citizen that literally didn't set foot on US soil. Sat up in a tree, for example, for a whole calendar year. Some people actually tried it, with varying and humorous success.

Of course, it was all a bunch of bullshit and the IRS treated it as such. But when the tax protesters took to the water and cast off on the inland waters of the US, they seemed to grab the popular imagination. After all, there was a strong motivation behind the attempt to dodge income tax, and a lot of grassroots sympathy, with the base marginal tax rate topping over forty-five percent.

The whole movement was known as the Raft. Not a single vessel, but a whole fleet of ragtag, dispossessed ships. Essentially anything that floated and kept a bum from setting foot on solid ground. That was the Raft. With each and every deadbeat skipping out on his fair share of the tax burden.

But damn it, Jerry paid his taxes, even on his social security, something his father's generation had never had to do. If Jerry could pay his taxes, why couldn't those bums? The government needed to come in and arrest the lot. It was obscene, the sight, floating out there flipping the bird at Uncle Sam.

And on Jerry's doorstep, too. The politicians back in Olympia and even Washington, D.C. didn't have to deal with it. But Jerry did, every day. All those tiny little craft, each holding a stinking hippie. God knows where they were all going to the bathroom. In the Sound, Jerry wagered, and then that refuse washing up on Jerry's beach.

It just wasn't fair. A guy who works his whole life, does his time, pays his taxes, he gets screwed over. But those deadbeats...

The coffee was ready. Jerry poured himself a cup.

When Jerry first heard the screams, he was not concerned. His wife was prone to hollering at the dogs if they swam out too far from shore. But when her screams didn't die away, he began to grow alarmed. He crossed the dining room to the window and looked out through the rain-spattered glass. The dogs were out of the water, rooting at something at the very southern edge of Jerry's property. His wife was sprinting back towards the house as fast as her age and bum knee would let her.

"Jerry!" she screamed up from the back basement door. She screamed with such blood-curdling force that a cold shiver shot down Jerry's spine. Something was wrong, very wrong. He'd never heard his wife's voice betray such fear. Jerry dropped his coffee mug on the dining room table, dumping its contents across the oak surface. He sprinted for the basement stairs.

His wife was standing at the door to the mud room, her face sheet white.

They didn't speak. Jerry crossed the small patch of lawn between the house and the water's edge, shuffling in his slippers. "Leave it! Leave it!" he commanded the dogs, but they ignored him, sniffing curiously at the dark mound. When Jerry was on top of them, he smacked each animal roughly on the haunches, sending them whinnying off in the frigid surf.

Jerry already knew what he'd find. The abject terror in his wife's eyes had spoken volumes.

Jerry leaned over the mound gingerly, struggling to keep his footing in the loose gravel of the beach. He could feel his heart pumping a thousand beats a minute, the blood thundering in his ears. He reached out and turned the dark mound over. Behind him, Linda let out a horrified cry and began to sob.

It was a young woman, or had been, her face white, her lips blue. Her dark hair was a tangle of flotsam and mud, wrapped in the heavy, coarse, hemp fabrics of handmade clothes. But it was her feet that instantly marked her as a Rafter. Jerry looked down and stared at her white, porcelain toes.

She was barefoot. The Rafters were always barefoot. There was no need for shoes when you lived your days aboard ship.

She'd died and fallen into the water. Jerry looked out at the countless silhouettes that bobbed out in the Sound, hidden by the haze of the Northwest morning. She'd died and fallen off one of those vagabond craft and washed up on Jerry's beach. She was dead. Back on US soil.

Jerry's gaze returned to her cold, dead, sheet-white toes.

Chapter 1

Maggie's toes curled against the cold as she piloted her launch towards Alki Beach.

It was far too early for Maggie to be out of her nice warm bunk, and far too rainy for Maggie to be out and about in a small craft on Elliot Bay. She shivered, half from the weather, half from panic. It was far too early for Maggie to be having so much emotional drama, too. She coughed and told herself to keep it together.

She'd had a small panic attack as she'd lowered her dinghy into the water, a few minutes of tears that she'd been able to swallow back. Now, she would hold it together. She was not going to make a scene. Perhaps five years ago she'd have blubbered her way through a day like today, but five years ago was five years ago. Today was different. Today was five years of distance. Maggie could hold it together.

Maggie shifted her heading, changing course out of the path of the speeding pleasure boat that had obviously not seen her tiny dinghy. She bounced in the wake as the behemoth passed, her small, electric outboard motor purring towards the public beach. There was a single red-haired figure silhouetted in the gray morning of the beach, and Maggie knew this marked her destination.

She let a wave of panic build and wash over her. She let her eyes water. Moments later, she was back in control, but she didn't trust herself to hold on to it.

She was going to hold it together, she was. She had to hold it together. If she let Rachael see her cry...

The phone had rung an hour earlier. The black slab of an iPhone, the one Maggie kept on a charger in her galley. It woke Maggie from a deep sleep, beeping rhythmically. Maggie had to search her memory to identify the sound. It had been... well, years since the phone had rung. Maggie only really kept it out of habit, paying the monthly service charge out of what few dollars still remained in her dryland bank account. She'd scrambled to answer it, tumbling out of her snug bunk.

"Hello?" she'd asked, half expecting a robo-call.

Silence.

Maggie was about to return the phone to its charger, and herself to her inviting bunk, when a small voice came from the speaker. "Maggie?"

Maggie's heart leapt.

The voice was instantly familiar – instantly welcome and unwelcome at the same time.

"Rachael?" she'd asked the phone, still holding it out towards the charger. Remembering the old habit of holding a phone to your ear to listen to the other party, she quickly brought it to the side of her head. "Rachael?"

"Hi- hi, Maggie."

"What?" Maggie stammered.

"I-"

"Why? Why are you calling?" Maggie asked, then realized she was being bitchy. "How are you?"

"Good, good," the soft voice on the phone coughed. "Look, I know I shouldn't call like this, but it's sort of an emergency."

Maggie's brain scrambled to think of what sort of emergency it could be. What sort of emergency Maggie could help Rachael with. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"You see, um, well..."

"What's wrong?" Maggie asked again, now concerned. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, yes. It's not me, it's... well, there's no other way to say it... they found a body."

"What?"

"A body, off Bainbridge Island. Washed ashore."

"Oh," Maggie replied, her heart still thumping away.

"Well, you see. The body, the girl... it was a young woman... she was barefoot, you see."

"In the water?"

"Yes, so you understand, everyone – the police – are assuming she's a Rafter."

"Yes."

"And since I understand you're sort of what passes for law enforcement out there..."

"No," Maggie said strongly. "No, it's not like that-" It really wasn't like that.

"But I was thinking," Rachael kept on. Maggie knew better than to interrupt, Rachael always said her peace. "I mean, if it's going to fall on you to investigate this death... or whatever you do... well, perhaps you wouldn't mind a shadow? You know, someone from the media?"

"What? You?" Maggie replied in horror.

"Yes. There's a lot of interest in the Raft right now. You know, buzz with our readers. People are curious. My editor is curious. You know... about how exactly you people deal with stuff like this. I know it's out of the ordinary, and I know you and I..." she trailed off.

"I don't know," Maggie said after a long, pregnant silence. "I think you think I'm some sort of cop. That's not what I do..."

"No, I know. I know it's all different out there on the Raft. That's what I want to write about. That's what interests our readers." Rachael sighed and tried to sound earnest. "Look, I know how weird this is. Five years and we haven't spoken. But... well, this might be good for both of us: the Raft will get some non-critical exposure and I'll get a good story. A very good story. And we can reconnect. Catch up..."

"Your editor told you to call me, didn't he?" Maggie said flatly.

"Yes," Rachael replied honestly and tried to laugh, but Maggie could almost hear her wince in pain. "But Maggie-"

"No, no," Maggie interrupted. "If you've got your orders, that's fine. It takes guts to call. I couldn't have called you."

"I know, Maggie... about..."

It was Maggie's turn to force out a casual laugh. "If you want to come out and write a story about the Raft, that would be great."

"Really?" Rachael replied with surprise.

"Sure. I can't promise you a _good_ story. I don't know anything about what has happened – there's no reason to believe I'll have anything to do with it. But if you want to get a story about the Raft, then I'd like to help." Maggie was rambling, she should have kept her mouth shut. The second the words left her mouth she regretted uttering them.

"Great." Rachael seemed genuinely happy. "I can meet you at Alki Beach. In an hour? Would that work? I don't know the protocol..."

"That's fine, I'm not far from the city. Just bring some boots, I can't come ashore."

"Great. Great. Great." Rachael repeated. "Um, Maggie?"

"Yes."

"Do you know..?" Rachael trailed off, then came back strong. "I have a daughter. I'm married. Married." She rolled the last word around in her mouth, as if enunciating it could give it more meaning.

"Yes, sure," Maggie lied.

"Okay then. An hour?"

"Great."

#

Maggie's toes curled against the fiberglass hull of her launch.

The silhouette of Rachael was growing larger. Maggie kept the bow pointed towards her. Rachael, wrapped in some large, bulky overcoat with a brown scarf snapping behind her in the biting wind, was standing in the surf. A large bag sat in the sand next to her and she wore knee-high rubber boots, as instructed.

As Maggie approached, slowing her launch in the shallows, Rachael scooped up her bag and strode out into the water. Five yards from the shore, Rachael met Maggie's boat, tossed her bag inside and agilely hopped up and over the gunwale.

It all happened so fast. Suddenly, Rachael was sitting before Maggie, large as life, tugging strands of hair out of her mouth and smiling.

Maggie brought the launch about. She throttled the small, high-pitched engine to life and began the return journey out into the bay.

"Don't start," Rachael said, watching the skyline of West Seattle fade away behind Maggie's back.

"I wasn't," Maggie grinned.

"Just... don't start," Rachael repeated.

"I wasn't. You look good."

"I said-"

"Okay!" Maggie held up her free hand in a gesture of surrender.

Rachael did look good. Five years older perhaps, but still beautiful. Like Nicole Kidman with laugh lines, Maggie remembered. That was how Maggie had often described Rachael. Back then. She had more crow's feet now, sure, and some gray in amongst the red hair. But still, she looked perfect. Maybe a little thin.

They let the rain and the waves stream past them, sitting in silence. The boat bobbed on the wakes of passing craft. Five years and so much to say. Neither one spoke.

"Married?" Maggie finally broke the silence.

"I said don't start." Rachael refused to make eye contact, looking out at the passing ships.

"It's just... to a _man_?"

"Maggie..." Rachael said, finally turning to face Maggie.

"I know. Don't start." Maggie focused on her navigation, falling in behind a fast-moving speedboat, staying within the V of its wake. "How old is your girl?" Maggie asked.

"Three," Rachael replied.

"Children, huh?"

"It happens."

"So I've read," Maggie smirked.

"Don't-"

"I know. I know."

They both looked to port to watch a sailing dinghy, its sheets billowing in the breeze as it cut a speedy course perpendicular to their own.

Then, without warning, Rachael blurted out, "I called her Margaret."

The revelation stunned Maggie. She sat in silence, her mouth slightly ajar.

Rachael backpedaled, realizing she'd put her foot in it. She stammered, "Maggie, I- I can explain..."

But the tears were already coming. Any chance of Maggie keeping her composure had taken flight with that last bombshell. She couldn't hold back. She sniffled and steered and tried to pick a path through the busy bay. Back towards her sailboat. But the tears kept coming.

Chapter 2

"You must think I'm a monster... after all this time... coming out here and saying all these things..." Rachael sounded sincere.

She hadn't just come out to the Raft to ruin Maggie's life. Really, she hadn't. But when the story of the dead Rafter had come across the wire, Rachael had reacted badly. She'd been sure it was Maggie. Positive. Even after reading the physical description of the deceased, Rachael hadn't been able to shake the sinking feeling in her stomach. She had to hear Maggie's voice, make sure she was okay.

"Forget about it," Maggie said as she cranked her dinghy back up to its storage position. It had brought them across the crowded bay, out into the relative peace of the open Puget Sound, where Maggie's sailing yacht waited. Up a short ladder and Rachael found herself standing in the cockpit of the 40-foot-long craft, her luggage at her feet. Despite her heavy jacket, she shivered.

Rachael had found Maggie's old number in the margin of her 2008 notebook, diligently filed away with a gaggle of identical, dog-eared, blue exam books from throughout the years. The number was right where Maggie had written it the night they'd met in that bar. Rachael had gone home with someone else, she remembered, but called Maggie the next evening. She had no idea if the number would still work - the last time she'd called it was over five years prior - but it was all she had.

The number had rung to Rachael's infinite relief, and Maggie had answered.

"Really, I'm sorry," Rachael said.

Rachael had lied and made up some tale about chasing down a story, and here she was aboard Maggie's boat with no clue of why she was there – that was a lie, too, she knew exactly why she was there, but she almost refused to admit it to herself. The task was so Herculean: she knew she had to get Maggie off the Raft. Somehow.

"It's okay," Maggie dismissed, securing the dinghy. The yacht was named the _Soft Cell_ , Rachael could only vaguely remember why. It was the name the ship had borne when Maggie had purchased it and she was the unsentimental sort who'd never bother to rename anything once it'd been named. The yacht had been the dimensions of Maggie's home for the last five years. Since she'd left dryland and joined the Raft.

"Is it always this bumpy?" Rachael asked. She was already starting to feel seasick. She'd never had the stomach for boats.

Maggie didn't answer. It was still drizzling, but she removed her jacket as she worked. She tied ropes off to cleats. Maggie hefted the dinghy's electric outboard off its mount and began to spirit it away in a compact storage bin under one of the cockpit's benches.

Five years and Maggie hadn't aged a day, Rachael marveled as she watched her work. Her dark skin still exotic, with her hard-edged face that only softened when smiling. Maggie stood a good head taller than Rachael, with wide, strong shoulders, and lean, thin arms. Time seemed not to have touched her. Her head of dark, tangled hair was well kept but still wild, whirling around her head. With her jacket off, Rachael could see the complex arrangement of her tattoos. The oversized, finely detailed Cross of Lorraine on her right upper arm still held Rachael's attention. Its significance escaped her.

"So, what do you have? On the victim?" Maggie said, now businesslike, turning to Rachael and dusting off her hands.

Rachael reached into the pocket of her coat and came back with a folded photocopy. She unfolded it and held it out for Maggie. The rain quickly began to smudge the grainy DMV photo.

"The girl's name was Joanna Church, twenty-six," Rachael began. She felt she needed to say something, anything, even though Maggie could read the photocopy for herself. "She was found by a homeowner at around seven this morning, bobbing in the tide. First guess is she'd been dead in the water for maybe three hours. Cause of death was blunt-force trauma to the back of her head. No water in her lungs. Dead before she went overboard."

"Meerkat," Maggie said, looking at the photocopy.

"Sorry?" Rachael steadied herself, feeling woozy.

"I don't know any Joanna Church, but this girl," Maggie handed back the photocopy, "is Meerkat. And if Meerkat has washed up dead... hell, truth be told, if anyone on the Raft has mysteriously washed up dead... then there is only one real suspect: Horus."

"Horus?" Rachael repeated.

"Yes. Horus the Brontosaurus."

"What?" Rachael said, confused. "That's a name?"

"Meerkat's boyfriend. Nasty piece of work. Weed dealer. Meerkat had her demons. Anyway, if she fell overboard, then I'd bet you sixty hours to a second that Horus was standing right behind her when she did. Sorry, Rachael, I doubt there's any sort of story here for you. I think you came all this way for nothing. Unless domestic violence is interesting to your readers."

In all honesty, Rachael didn't care. She hadn't really come to report on the murder.

She'd come to get Maggie off the Raft.

There was a storm brewing onshore, Rachael knew, though she herself was only aware of it at the very edges. The murder, the dead girl, the Raft... yes, a storm was brewing. Murmurs were leaking out of cracks in the normally watertight Seattle Police Department. Federal agents were walking the halls. A murder aboard the Raft? It was a prime opportunity.

But Rachael cared even less about the Raft than she did about the murder. The second she'd seen the wire, a flood of old emotions had welled up inside her. Her breakup from Maggie had been... well, had they ever really broken up? Did it count if you never said goodbye? A total, blinding panic had consumed Rachael until she'd been able to positively confirm that the murder victim was _not_ indeed Maggie. If anything had actually happened to Maggie, stranded out on that damn boat, Rachael would have never forgiven herself.

Logically, she knew that Maggie's exit from dryland had not been her doing, but emotionally, she still bore the full weight of it. Maggie had run away from Rachael, that was the horrible truth that had welled up inside her as the terror had consumed her. And it was Rachael's fault. Even when Rachael had come to fully realize that Maggie was okay, totally unaffected by the events detailed in the wire, Rachael had been unable to shake the feeling of self-loathing that apparently sat locked up inside her.

But now it was all over – the Raft, that is, not Rachael's guilt. When the storm building onshore finally broke over the Raft, it'd sink it to the bottom of the Puget Sound as sure as anything. Rachael had maybe hours, maybe minutes, before the feds and the cops finished their respective jurisdictional pissing matches and came out, loaded for bear, onto the Raft.

If Maggie was still aboard when that happened... well, Rachael couldn't let that happen. She'd lost Maggie once already that day – at least emotionally – and she wasn't about to lose her again. Maggie could be stubborn... shit, she was practically half mule, but Rachael couldn't let anything happen to her. No, not after all that had happened, not with so much still left unsaid.

God, Peter was going to be furious when he figured out where Rachael was. Margaret would be in daycare until three. She was going to have to call, tell Peter everything, but... maybe Rachael had enough time...

Maggie was busying herself, preparing the _Soft Cell_ to get underway. She was moving to the bow to raise the anchor. Rachael tried to follow, moving cautiously on the slick deck. "Maggie, I know this might not seem like much to you, but-"

Rachael slipped, her left foot coming out from underneath her. She landed hard on her rump.

"Take those boots off," Maggie interrupted as she cranked up the anchor. "You'll kill yourself as well, and then the cops will have two reasons to sail out here and start poking around."

Rachael laughed in nervous shock. She should have known better to think that Maggie wouldn't have already grasped the full political implications of the young girl's death. Rachael sat down on the roof of the boat's cabin and pulled a rubber boot off. She did the same with a sock. Maggie slipped by, returned to the cockpit.

"Maggie..."

"Rachael, take your own advice: don't start."

"But-"

"Don't."

Rachael let her mouth close. She busied herself with her second boot and sock. When she was barefoot, she pulled herself back to her feet and tested the fiberglass below her toes. It was cold and damp and Rachael felt dizzy.

What the hell was she doing here?

She began shuffling back towards the stern, one hand keeping hold of the grab rail and the other holding her boots. "What are you going to do, Maggie?" Rachael said, not looking up from her toes.

"Do?" Maggie seemed surprised by the question. "Arrest Horus, of course."

Of course. "But I thought you said you weren't a cop?" Rachael said as she reached the cockpit. She dropped heavily down onto one of the long benches, never slacking her iron grip on the boat's railing.

"I said it didn't work like that. But if it helps to think of me as a policeman, fine."

"No," Rachael winced. That was Maggie: don't explain, just condescend. "If I'm going to write an article about the Raft, you have to explain things to me. Are you a cop or are you not?"

Maggie paused, looked at Rachael out of the corner of her eye, then chuckled. "Yes. And no. It just not like that out here, Rachael."

"But you can arrest this Horus character?"

Maggie nodded.

"And you're sure he's the murder?"

Maggie shrugged.

"Well, is he or isn't he? Isn't he innocent until proven guilty? Even out here on the Raft?"

"I doubt anyone has ever seriously considered Horus innocent of anything in his life. But I see your point."

"Then who decides if he's guilty or innocent? A jury of his peers? A judge? What? Does the Raft have any sort of judicial system in place?" Rachael shifted in her seat, trying not to think about her queasy stomach. "No? You've never had to deal with a serious crime like this, have you? So there's never been any need. Damn it, Maggie, this is what everyone onshore is saying: that you're a bunch of spoiled, pie-in-the-sky New Agers, dodging taxes, skipping out on the check, preaching peace and love while practicing self-preservation. And now the Raft has finally killed someone, some poor, young, innocent girl, and now the world can see you all for what you really are: dangerous. Dangerous to yourself and dangerous to mainstream society."

Maggie didn't answer. She flipped a few switches on the console by the helm and the sound of churning water rose from a propeller at the stern of the _Soft Cell_. The craft lurched perceptively forward, cutting into the drizzle of the typical Puget Sound morning.

Apart from the sound of the needing water, the boat was completely silent. No engine noise. Everything was electric.

"Maggie," Rachael continued, changing her tone. "They're ramping up for something big back onshore. I don't know what, I've only heard rumors, but you don't need me to tell you what the death of this poor girl means: cops, the FBI, the Coast Guard. Everyone has woken up this morning with the Raft first and foremost in the news. If popular opinion has kept the Raft safe until now, it's going to rise up and bite you in the ass when America hears about this girl. It's everything they've been waiting for, Maggie, all the ammunition they've ever needed. This time, Maggie, they're going to sink the Raft."

"I know," Maggie said tersely.

"Then let's go," Rachael pleaded. She stood up and put her hand on the suspended dinghy. "Lower this back in the water and let's head back to Alki. Forget about this boat and forget about the Raft. The time has come, Maggie. Cut your losses. You know what's going to happen when the FBI sails out here and starts pushing people around. There's going to be violence. There's no need for you to get caught up in that. Come on, Maggie, let's head back to shore. We can put you up, we have spare room. You'll be safe. Maggie? Maggie, are you listening?"

"I am, I am," Maggie replied, holding the helm in both hands.

"Then let's go."

"No."

"Maggie."

"Rachael."

"You don't seriously want to be out here, in open water, when the authorities arrive? Do you?"

"No, certainly not."

"Then what are you planning to do?"

"What am I planning?" Maggie finally turned to look at Rachael, incredulity in her voice. "Just what I said: arrest Horus, put him in cuffs, and hand him over to the dryfoot cops, guilty or innocent. I don't care. If the cops want a patsy, then I'm more than happy to provide them with one."

"But that's not going to satisfy them, Maggie." Rachael shook her head.

"And why not?" Maggie replied. "If the Raft can solve this murder before the dryfoots have even finished with their breakfast, why not?"

"Maggie, I don't think you understand-" Rachael began.

"No Rachael, I don't think you understand. Dryfoot cops – Feds – aboard the Raft, you don't understand how the Rafters will react. Violence is an understatement. It will mean all-out war. People here have been foretelling this for years. They've been readying themselves since the earliest days of the Raft. People have guns, lots of them, and every intention of using them."

"Then all the more reason to go ashore now."

"I can't leave the Raft to that fate, Rachael, I just can't. Not when there's so much I can still do to avert it."

"Then there's no convincing you?" Rachael said dejectedly. She dropped back down on the cockpit bench and leaned back.

"No," Maggie replied. "At least, not yet."

"Then?" Rachael perked up, letting her word hang in the air between them.

"Maybe. I'm going to need your help, Rachael. If I show up onshore with Horus, that's one thing. But if I show up onshore with Horus _and_ a reporter from the newspaper... well, that's something else entirely."

Rachael nodded, leaned back against the bench with a smile.

"Maggie?" she said tentatively after a long silence.

"Yes?"

"I- I don't really have a story to write," she admitted. "My editor isn't even out of bed at this hour. When the news came in... I was so worried..."

"It's all right," Maggie replied, her eyes fixed straight ahead, watching the water. "I only keep that phone... because I know you still had the number."

"What a pair we make," Rachael commented reflectively.

"Yes," Maggie answered. "What a pair."

Chapter 3

The Raft, like so many social revolutions, was only made practical by a seemingly unrelated technological innovation.

In 2026, after the government embargoed diesel sales to the various unaffiliated Rafts that had sprouted up on the many inland waterways of the United States, the movement appeared literally dead in the water. Without fuel, living disconnected from dryland would be totally impossible.

If it had not been for the recent introduction of cheap, high-strength, flexible solar cells, the Raft would have sunk before it even really cast off from the shore. Clean, cheap solar energy arrived just in the nick of time to offer the Rafters an alternative to the government-controlled fuel monopoly. The Raft stayed afloat and has remained predominately solar powered to this day.

Of course, many original Rafters, old hands at sailing, opted to live aboard their sailing craft. This too provided them with a source of power. On a blustery day, they could happily sail to and fro to their heart's content. But wind was a finicky power source. Such vehicles normally depended on diesel motors to maneuver when the wind was poor, or when close to land. Solar cells, however, stitched into the fabric of their sails, allowed for the best of both worlds: wind power when the breeze was favorable, and electric motor power when it was not.

So quite by accident, the Raft became the poster child for green, eco-friendly living. It was hardly by choice, but a necessity forced upon the Raft by government pressure. For what the government could control, it could take away from the Raft, and was more than happy to do so. The sun and wind, however, belonged to everyone. And that the Rafter could count on.

#

When the _Soft Cell_ had motored completely around the southern tip of Bainbridge Island, Maggie unfurled its sails and let the wind carry the boat north. Its foresail was its solar panel, one of the newest designs. Not simply solar cells stitched onto the fabric of the sail, but a whole sail weaved out of photovoltaic material. It glistened silver as the first rays of sun broke through the rain clouds. It whipped and snapped in the breeze, as thin and fixable as any cloth.

They were sailing full and by as the tree-lined shore of Fort Ward passed to their right. The Rich Passage was busy with its usual morning traffic. Vessels of all shapes and sizes, some Rafter but mostly dryfoot, passed by. A State of Washington Ferry lumbered by, hauling its load of cars and passengers towards the port of Bremerton. In its wake, the hull the _Soft Cell_ bobbed and danced. Maggie sat at the helm, calmly watching the water, the wind whipping her hair around her.

It was Rachael who broke the silence.

"So, then what are you, Maggie? If you're not a cop?" she asked, blinking against the sun trying to break through the clouds.

Maggie looked back away from the prow and over to the bench where Rachael was watching the ferry float by. "They call people like me Magistrates," she said. "Maybe we're more that than anything else."

"You're a judge?"

"I'm in _dispute resolution_ , yeah."

"But not a cop?"

"Well, I'm Horus's cop, I'll tell you that for nothing."

"His _personal_ policeman?"

Maggie laughed. "No, but God knows he could use one. I have his franchise."

"His what?"

"His-" Maggie paused, searching for the right words. "It's hard to explain."

"To a regular person? Living in the real world of law and order?" Rachael said, hardly hiding the sarcasm in her voice.

"To a dryfoot, yes," Maggie replied, not taking the bait. "Look, aboard the Raft, law is a service you purchase, like anything else."

Rachael snorted. "And how does _that_ work?"

"Well," Maggie began, turning her attention back to navigation and keeping her hands on the helm, "Rafters are almost chronically allergic to authority. I'm sure you've guessed that. Authority is the reason most cast off... why they left dryland in the first place. No one wants the Raft to turn into a smaller, more shitty copy of society at large. We leave _society_ to the dummies who think paying 40% VAT is a reasonable thing to do. But, it's obvious to anyone who's lived out here for any period of time that you can't run even a loose-knit, come-as-you-are, wavy-gravy, hand-waving sort of confederation without at least a few unbreakable edicts.

"Turns out, everyone, eventually, needs a judge. Eventually, over the normal course of events, we all come to blows with someone over something. As much as you might try to mind your own business, it's still _business_. Even in the most basic of barter economies, you've got to force folk to stand by their word, or... well, it all comes unraveled. If the Raft can't enforce contracts, it isn't really the Raft. Or really much of anything at all."

"So, some sort of tort law?"

"Right. After you've tried threats and fisticuffs and yelling really loud and haven't really gotten much for your red-faced pains, you eventually have to go find some neutral third party for a little objective adjudication."

"A neutral third party like the government?"

It was Maggie's turn to snort. "Yeah, but no one out here wants anything to do with shit like that. First you got courts and then you've got cops and then you got men with guns and inflation and income tax and all that dryfoot crap."

"You mean civilization?" Rachael smirked.

"Right, crap," Maggie dismissed. "Aboard the Raft, all you need is some other Rafter who owes nothing to party A or party B. That's just about any other Rafter that the two arguing parties can agree on. And if the arbitrator is adequately compensated for his efforts, then no one's the worse for wear."

"You _pay_ your judges? Isn't that a horrible conflict of interest?"

"Well, yeah," Maggie had to admit. "But it's not like you can expect someone to do it for free. After all, why would they? But it was my first thought when got out here, too. This is how you run your Raft? But then that's the genius of this place – what makes the Raft wholly unique: if you don't like how things are run, even the law, you just go right ahead and make things run better. And that's what I did."

"You did what?" Rachael asked, confused.

"I hung up a shingle. Went into the adjudication business myself. But I updated the business model."

"The business of right and wrong?"

"Judging it, at least. You see, back then, when I cast off, female judges were unheard of. Deep down inside, people are a sexist, racist, stupid bunch of idiots, as I'm sure you're aware. The Raft isn't any better. It's just made up of regular folks, after all. But it turns out being a woman is actually an advantage in this line of business. There's less ego to bruise with me. And most men actually listen to a strong female voice better. Maybe I reminded them off their mothers... anyway, when it comes to losing face, they seem able to lose it better in front of a woman than another man. After a few cases, I started to get a reputation for levelheadedness.

"But what really sent the Raft into a tailspin was my pricing model. I sold my service as a subscription. It worked for me because I had a steady income, and it worked for my clients because they didn't have to raise funds for each and every case they wanted heard. The only caveat, however, in my system is that I only hear disputes between two parties who are paid-up members in good standing with me. You couldn't sue an outsider, it all stays in the family. That way, my impartiality is maintained. Get it? Both parties are paying me, so neither has the upper hand."

"Doesn't that mean you pretty much have to have everyone on the Raft as a client for the scheme to be practical?"

"Exactly," Maggie said with no small measure of pride. "And that's what Rafters do. Pay two, three, or even four competing Magistrates to make sure their bases are covered. It's called selling your franchise. Giving up a small amount of your freedom so you're covered by the largest possible legal umbrella. You get to sue in my court, but also get sued. Either way, you have to abide by my decisions.

"Many other Magistrates have switched to my subscription model to stay relevant. It's competitive law enforcement. You dryfoots think that out here we're a lawless bunch of no-good beach bums, but in reality we're exactly the opposite: your average Rafter is positively swimming in law and order. Redundant and competitive, maybe, but more than just one emergency number to call when you're in trouble. And all for a fraction of the price of one good lawyer on dryland."

"And Horus is a dues-paying member of your clan?"

"Much to my eternal shame, yes." Maggie moved from behind the helm. She had maneuvered the _Soft_ _Cell_ out of the main current of traffic and towards the shore of Bainbridge Island. There, near the tree-lined beach of Fort Word, a lone ramshackle boat sat moored. Maggie began to reef her sails, slowing her vessel.

"And he's _paying_ you? He's paying you to come after him like this and arrest him?"

"That's right." The sailed furled, the _Soft Cell_ lost its momentum as it closed in on the cluttered vessel. Maggie quickly moved the length of her boat and stepped up to the pulpit. "Me and perhaps the other half-dozen Magistrates he subscribes to. I just got here first."

"And having this franchise gives you police powers over him?"

"It's all in the contract he signed," Maggie said. As the bow of Maggie's vessel touched up against the moored craft, she reached out and caught hold of the parked vessel. In a long, smooth series of motions she began to lash the two craft together.

When she'd finished, Maggie pulled herself erect and examined the cluttered deck of the other vessel. "So, I have his franchise, and that makes me his cop," Maggie continued. "And Meerkat, too. I had her franchise, too. You take the good with the bad. But when you've taken money to do a job..."

As Maggie stood at the gunwale of the _Soft Cell_ , she began to ready herself to leap across to the cluttered deck of the moored vessel beyond. As she did, she drew a small, black, polymer revolver from the waistband of her jeans and leveled it at the foreign deck.

Chapter 4

"You're carrying a _gun_?" Rachael asked in shock, her mind sent into a spin by the idea that Maggie had been secretly armed this whole time. Maggie gave her a patronizing glare, and hopped across the gap between the two vessels. "This is Horus's boat?" Rachael changed the subject, deciding to let the pistol go for now.

"He christened her the _Straight Dope_ ," Maggie said in a whisper from the far deck. She was moving cautiously towards the companionway of the untidy craft, pistol in hand. The danger of the moment slowly dawned on Rachael. She was still perched in full view on the cockpit bench of the _Soft Cell_ , but quickly ducked low as Maggie came around to cover the cabin of Horus's vessel. "It can't be said that Horus lacks a sense of humor," Maggie continued, almost matter of fact.

After a quick glance down into the depths of the _Straight Dope_ 's cabin, Maggie vanished down into its companionway. She appeared again moments later, tucking the small pistol back into her belt.

"Nobody's home," she said.

Who was this woman? Rachael marveled. Suddenly, Rachael was having trouble reconciling the Maggie she had known from five years prior with the Maggie who'd just hopped aboard a strange ship, armed, without even a flutter of trepidation.

Maggie looked at Rachael cowering behind the gunwale and smiled. "Well, are you coming aboard?"

"Oh, okay..." Rachael climbed to her wobbly feet and stepped up out of the cockpit. She watched the gap between the two vessels as they bumped and danced in the choppy water. It made her woozy. She felt dizzy. Maggie held out a hand and Rachael took it, hopping to the other craft with Maggie's support.

"Okay?" Maggie asked, still smiling.

"I- It's..." Rachael replied, flustered. Still holding Maggie's hand, standing close, she could smell the flowery scent of whatever shampoo Maggie had used to wash her long, dark hair. Rachael realized that she hadn't hugged Maggie hello, what with all the other shocking surprises of their reunion. In fact, she hadn't touched her at all until Maggie had held out her hand to help Rachael transition between the two vessels. Reflexively, Rachael swung in and gave Maggie an uncomfortable hug. Maggie guffawed.

"Well, it's good to see you, too," Maggie chuckled.

"I just realized... hello."

"Hello."

Rachael let go. It was an uncomfortable moment.

"Be careful," Maggie broke the tension, letting go of Rachael's hand. "This is probably a crime scene." Maggie turned, looking over the untidy cockpit, pondering the detritus.

"Thank you, Miss Marple," Rachael said, woozily stepping down towards the companionway. "This isn't my first crime scene, you know."

"Oh, of course," Maggie replied, lifting a soggy blanket from a bench and finding only garbage underneath. "Then you're the expert. This is _my_ first time. What are we looking for?"

"Seriously?" Rachael shot Maggie a sideways glance.

"Seriously..."

"Well, clues I suppose... evidence... and I'd say signs of a struggle, but in this mess I don't know how you'd tell." Rachael leaned down and inspected the cabin below, down through the companionway. If the deck was messy, then the main cabin was a garbage heap. "Has the ship been tossed? Was someone looking for something?"

"No," Maggie replied. "It's always this messy."

"You've been aboard before?"

"Oh, sure," Maggie dismissed. She was opening the engine compartment and stooping to look inside. "Horus is always in some kind of trouble."

"He lived here with Meerkat?"

"Mmm."

"We should wait for the police," Rachael said, her curiosity giving way to discomfort. "We could be contaminating the scene of the crime."

Maggie closed the engine compartment with a thud. "As I said, we need to find Horus _before_ the dryfoot cops arrive. But I see every indication that he's gone and put his boots on."

"Done what?"

"Fled to dryland." Maggie pointed up at the tree-lined shore a dozen yards from the moored boat. "Horus is gone, moored here. He killed Meerkat, for whatever reason, and fled to dryland. I suppose I should take it as a compliment."

"Compliment?"

"He'd rather answer to the dryfoot police than me."

Maggie stood surveying the junk all around her, thinking. "His stash," she said. A light in her eyes flashing.

Maggie pushed past Rachael, climbing down the short ladder into the main cabin. She stepped through the piles of clothes and discarded blankets and opened a set of cabinets in the galley. Rachael followed, lowering herself carefully below deck. She resisted touching anything, half in disgust and half out of concern that anything on the boat could be evidence.

Maggie tapped at the back of a cabinet, found what she was looking for and slapped the wood with the palm of her hand. The back panel of the cabinet gave way and Maggie pulled out an extra large zip lock bag full of vegetation.

"My, that's a lot of weed," Rachael said in admiration. Maggie hefted the zip lock bag in her hands. It was at least two to three pounds.

"Horus wouldn't have left without his personal stash," Maggie contemplated.

"What? His drugs? I thought you said he was a dealer?"

"He is. But this is his own special BC stock. Not for retail sale. If Horus was running for his life, he wouldn't have left this behind. He thinks he's going to come back..."

"He must have left in a hurry. He panicked."

"Sure, but he's not _that_ afraid of me," Maggie pondered. "And he'd have been safer out here, aboard the Raft, from the dryfoots..."

Something was bugging Rachael. "How did you know that was there?" Rachael asked, pointing at the zip lock bag.

"I..." Maggie suddenly blushed. "It's for glaucoma," she hedged.

"You have glaucoma?" Rachael smirked.

"I could... any day now..." Maggie smiled, then chuckled. They both let themselves have a light moment, forgetting for a second the reason they were there.

"Then that's it," Rachael said with finality. "Meerkat is dead and Horus is at large on the mainland. He's the police's problem now, this is a dead end."

"Mmm," Maggie grunted. She put down the zip lock bag and gave the messy galley a pass with her eyes. At the head, she pushed in the small folding door.

"We can bring the cops here to the _Straight Dope._ Give them what we've got. Perhaps when they realize that Horus is no longer aboard the Raft, it'll take the wind out of their sails. Surely, if it's obvious that Horus isn't hiding aboard the Raft, the Coast Guard is going to have a hard time justifying boarding Raft ships."

"Mmm," Maggie grunted again.

"Do you have anything more constructive to add than 'Mmm'?"

"How about motive?" Maggie said, reaching for something in the tiny bathroom. She came back with a small, empty cardboard box.

"What's that?"

"A home pregnancy test. At least the box for one."

"Meerkat was pregnant?" Rachael's eyes widened.

Maggie shrugged. "It's a potential motive for murder." Maggie gently returned the box to the shelf above the toilet, closing the folding door carefully. "Do you have any contacts at the coroner's office? Do you know when Meerkat's autopsy is scheduled?"

"I can make some calls." Rachael pulled her phone from her pocket. "Horus would kill Meerkat 'cause she was having a baby?"

"He might," Maggie mused, "if it wasn't his."

Chapter 5

Maggie was lost in thought, standing in a light drizzle on the deck of the _Straight Dope._ Rachael was making her calls. Maggie was so consumed in her musings that she failed to notice a long, thin, top-heavy boat emerge from the rainy haze of the cold morning and cut a course through the chop towards her.

It only caught her attention when the narrow vessel began to come about. Its pilot had obviously caught sight of who and what the _Straight Dope_ was rafted up to. It nose turned and its engine revved, filling the air with the pained whine of a struggling two-stroke.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Maggie hollered. She leapt from the deck of the _Straight Dope_ and back aboard the _Soft Cell_. She was quickly disentangling the two vessels as Rachael hung up her call.

"What's going on?"

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Maggie repeated, thrusting a finger after the fleeing vessel.

"What's that?" Rachael strained to make out the aft of the receding ship.

"Chemical," Maggie replied. The mooring lines of the _Soft Cell_ were free. The ship was drifting away from Rachael and the _Straight Dope_.

"Chemical what?" Rachael asked, then realized she was being left behind. "Hey, wait!"

"Jump," Maggie ordered.

"What?"

"Come on, he's getting away!"

Rachael jumped. Her bare feet caught the deck of the _Soft Cell_. Maggie caught her and pulled her aboard.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Maggie said a third time, rushing to get to the helm of her vessel. As soon as she was behind the wheel she gunned the throttle. The _Soft Cell_ jolted forward, kicking up a wake behind its small propeller. Quickly, it reached its top speed, perhaps no more than eight miles and hour.

Luckily, the top-heavy vessel's top speed was no greater. Slowly, ponderously, Maggie was closing on the lumbering vessel, while the whine of its two-stroke pieced the air. It was, perhaps, the slowest, weirdest chase Rachael could imagine. She could have jumped out and swam faster than both vessels. But Maggie was gritting her teeth with anger and struggling against the currents to keep her vessel on course. She was closing, she almost had her prey. Determination radiated from her.

"Who is that?" Rachael asked again. Despite the languid pace of the pursuit, Rachael's excitement was building. She held the grab rail before her with white knuckles.

"Chemical Ali," Maggie said, not taking her eyes away from the chase.

"Who?"

"Chemical Ali G," Maggie added. It made no sense the more she elaborated. "Horus's piece-of-shit homey. If anyone knows where Horus is... take the wheel," Maggie commanded.

"What?"

"Stop saying 'what' and 'who' and hold the helm!" Maggie stepped up and out of the cockpit, letting go of the wheel. Rachael lurched forward, catching the wheel in both hands. She had no idea how to steer a boat. She vaguely knew it worked in no way like a car.

Maggie scampered on her hands and knees up to the bow. The thin boat was twenty yards in front of them now, lost in the drizzle. Maggie opened the bow hatch and pushed the top half of her body through, letting her legs kick up into the air. She came back up, trailing a pump action shotgun in her left hand. She stood up, feet spread wide apart at the pulpit and cycled the action of her weapon.

"Chemical Ali, you son of a bitch! Come about!" she screamed into the cold air.

There was no answer.

"Ali, you goddamn fool! This is Maggie! And you better consider yourself under arrest, you piece of shit! Cut your engines and prepare for boarders, or God help me!"

"Ya can't arrest me!" a heavily accented voice spoke up from the fleeing vessel. There was only the voice, no sign of its owner. "I ain't no member of ya court!"

In answer, Maggie lowered her shotgun. She fired of a shot, taking the recoil of the gun handily with her weight leaning forward. The blast of buckshot ruptured a large water tank to the port side of the narrow vessel. A torrent of fresh water poured out onto the deck.

Rachael ducked down behind the helm.

"You crazy bitch!" the voice came again.

Maggie rested the shotgun in the curve of her hip. She cycled the action with a single hand and expertly caught the thrown shell with the other. "Cut that motor or the next round will be in your ass, Chemical!"

In the drizzle, the incessant whir of the two-stroke died.

Rachael braved a quick glance over the helm.

"Bring me in abaft," Maggie said to Rachael's terrified pair of eyes. She was threading the shotgun carefully back through the bow hatch. "Then cut the engine. Understand? Rachael?"

Rachael hurriedly nodded.

Back on her feet, Maggie climbed over the grab rail and hung out over the water from the very tip of pulpit. When Chemical's vessel came within reach, she sprang forward, catching hold of the ruptured water tank, still spouting water.

Rachael cut the engine. It took her two attempts, but she quickly deduced the control that was the throttle. There was an interminable period of silence as Maggie disappeared in amongst the cluttered deck of Chemical's craft. Then a thump, followed by an earsplitting crash. There were a few screams and Rachael began to panic. The _Soft Cell_ was drifting from the stern of the other craft, Rachael began to stab at the controls to bring her back into position. The helm was infuriatingly complex. She pushed the throttle forward and got no response. She pounded it with her fist and felt like she was about to cry. Then, to Rachael's infinite relief, Maggie appeared on the deck of Chemical's vessel. All one-hundred-and-forty pounds of Maggie had a muscular two-hundred-and-twenty of bloodied-nosed, baggy-pant gangster in tow.

With a calm moment to inspect the control panel, Rachael noted Maggie's helpful reminders scrawled in black Sharpie here and there on the console. Her lips moved as she read, she soon had the engine restarted and the boat puttering forward, closing on the stern of the second vessel.

"You crazy bitch!" Chemical Ali G repeated as Maggie pushed him off of his own craft. He crashed down onto the deck of the _Soft Cell_. Maggie sprang on him, dragging him forward to the pulpit and zip-tying his wrists to the grab rail. "Ya goddamn, crazy-"

Maggie slapped him hard on the side of the head. Rachael winced. "Enough," Maggie instructed, wagging a stern finger at the brutalized Chemical.

Chemical evaluated his compromised position and decided to keep his mouth shut.

He was young, perhaps no older than Meerkat, with a head of dyed blond hair and a small black goatee. He was all muscles under his white undershirt, for all appearances a tough character. Rachael marveled that Maggie had been able to handle him so convincingly.

"He's injured," Rachael said with concern, not moving from her spot behind the helm.

"Crazy son of a bitch tried to stab me," Maggie held up her bare left forearm, showing it to Rachael. She was bleeding, too. "I had to hit him with the closest thing at hand."

"Yeah, a friggin' frying pan. I think me nose is broke," Chemical complained in his thick Cockney accent.

"Serves you right!" Maggie spat.

"Ya attacked me, you crazy slapper! Chasin' me down and comin' onto _me_ boat. Ya got no right!"

"I got every goddamn right," Maggie replied dryly, tending to the cut on her arm.

"You ain't holdin' me franchise. You kicked me out, 'member? For not paying me fines." Chemical Ali G rolled up a wad of blood in his mouth and spat it overboard. Rachael had dodged down into the cabin and returned with some dish towels. One she handed to Maggie and the other she tentatively used to wipe Chemical's face.

"Did you have to hit him so hard?" Rachael asked, wiping Chemical's mouth.

"He was a fleeing felon." Maggie wrapped the towel around her forearm.

"I ain't!" Chemical protested. "I ain't done nothin' wrong!" He struggled against his zip ties. Rachael, surprised, stepped back. Up close and agitated, Chemical was even more intimidating than Rachael had first feared.

"With Meerkat dead and the Brontosaurus on the run, I'm sure you're an accessory to something, Ali."

A cold chill suddenly hit the bound man. "What?" he asked.

"Accessory to something: murder, evading arrest, withholding information. I'll have to think of something."

"No, what was that 'bout Meerkat?" Chemical said with cold intensity. Maggie looked up from tending her arm and exchanged a glance with Rachael.

"He doesn't know," Rachael muttered.

Maggie's shoulders deflated. She tied off the dish towel on her arm and turned to Chemical.

"What? What happened to Meerkat? _Tell me_." Chemical demanded.

"She washed up onshore this morning," Maggie said flatly. "She'd been in the water for maybe half the night."

"No, no..." Chemical said in disbelief. "No!" He struggled again at his bonds.

"Don't make me hit you again!" Maggie showed Chemical the back of her good hand.

"Maggie!" Rachael scolded, stepping between the two of them. She turned to Chemical and spoke softly. "That's what we were doing on Horus's boat: looking for him. You really didn't know anything about it?"

"Nah, nothin'. Oh God, Meerkat..." The white pallor of Chemical's skin told Rachael he wasn't lying.

"Horus has fled to the dryland. He's our prime suspect."

"Nah, no. He'd never," Chemical muttered. "He loved her... loved her..."

Rachael turned to look at Maggie.

"Was Meerkat... pregnant?" Maggie asked, returning Rachael's gaze.

"What?" Chemical grunted with what appeared to be genuine surprise. Rachael could almost see the wheels in his head turning. When the right cog fit into the right slot, he again began thrashing at his zip ties. "Come on, Maggie, let me go! I'm done causin' any palaver. Cut me loose. Hey, darlin'," he addressed Rachael. "Have a heart..."

"What is it, Ali? What is it? Was she pregnant?" Maggie asked again.

"Nah, nah... come on, Maggie, you know you can't hold me like this. Let's call this all a misunderstandin' and cut me loose, ah?"

"If you're covering for Horus, Chemical, I'll make sure you get it good, just as bad as Horus. You want me to hand you over to the dryfoot cops? How many warrants do you have outstanding on the dryland, huh? Chemical? You want to think about what they'd do to you if they caught wind of what you and Horus have been up to? And let's not forget accessory to murder after the fact. You remember the inside of a dryfoot prison? I bet you do. No, you're going to sit there and like it and tell me what it is that's got you so excited all of a sudden. Was Meerkat having some other man's child? Someone other than Horus? Is that why he flew off the handle? Threw her overboard?"

"I-I-" Chemical stammered.

"I'm running out of patience, you limey snot..." Maggie inspected the cut on her forearm. Chemical's eyes grew large and round.

All of a sudden, he couldn't get the words out fast enough. "Look, I don't know nothin', okay? I ain't tellin' you nothin'. But it's like... ya know, big. Massive. If I tell ya what I know, ya got to let me go, alright?"

"You're not -" Maggie began again to lecture Chemical, but he interrupted her by pulling against the pulpit with all his might. Something had him spooked, honest to goodness scared, and he seemed willing to tear the _Soft Cell_ apart to escape.

"Okay, okay," Maggie conceded. "Calm down."

And at the sound of Maggie's acquiesce, Chemical visibly relaxed.

"What is it, Chemical?" Maggie asked.

"Alright, alright. Ya see, once or twice, ya know, I took Meerkat along... you know, on a delivery..."

Maggie shook her head, missing Chemical's point. "So what? She helped you deliver weed? To who?"

"To the dryland. Horus has been sending her onshore, now and again, you see..."

"No. Why?"

"Well," Chemical's tone became suddenly conspiratorial. "And I ain't sayin' any of this, you understand. You didn't hear nothin' from me. I don't know _nothin_ ', alright? But accordin' to Horus, before Meerkat came out to the Raft, she used to strip, ya know?"

Maggie shrugged. "So?"

"Well, so she had this customer back then, a regular."

"Yeah?" Maggie cocked an eyebrow, catching on.

"And a few months ago, he comes callin' again-"

"Ah, okay," Maggie interrupted, rapidly losing interest in Chemical's story.

"Nah, nah, you ain't heard the meat of it yet, Maggie."

"I've heard enough," Maggie dismissed, turning her attention to her injured arm.

"Nah, you harkin'? It weren't no professional visit, this. He calls up Meerkat lookin' for a surrogate."

"What was that?" Rachael shot back, suddenly realizing she'd only been half listening.

"Surr-o-gate," Chemical rolled around in his mouth. "Ya know, young girls havin' babies for old slappers."

"You're joking?" Maggie thought it was humorous.

"Nah! Well, guess the wife of this geezer can't have no more babies of her own. And the straight-up dryfoot services have turned 'em away. Too old, or somethin'. Anyway, he's lookin' for a healthy young girl. To, ya know, _plant his seed_. And, out here, after all... well, everythin' is for sale out here on the Raft..."

Maggie and Rachael exchanged confused glances. Was Chemical Ali for real? He certainly seemed like an unreliable witness. But his earnestness was compelling.

"'Cause Meerkat don't take none of this seriously, but there's Horus whisperin' in her ear. Horus is a smart one, he is. He sees the potential. Ya know, potential for blackmail. They ain't talkin' about no clinical setup here, no. We talking about old school insemination, if you know what I mean."

"And you were taking Meerkat to shore for this?" Maggie seemed skeptical.

"Yeah, see, this dryfoot pigeon, he starts payin' up, all callin' up Meerkat and shit, tryin' to hook up, lookin' for more. Every time Meerkat goes to shore for a _treatment_ , the more the pigeon wants more. And Meerkat keeps jackin' up the price. We're talkin' cheddar here, ya know?"

"And Horus was okay with this?" Rachael seemed appalled. "Prostituting his girlfriend?"

"Ah," Chemical dismissed. "Can't be all that hung up about that sort of thin' out here on the Raft, love."

Rachael looked at Maggie disgusted. Maggie shrugged.

"And this dryfoot pigeon?" Maggie pressed. "Horus ever say who he was?"

And Chemical Ali G smiled. A wide, fat, toothy grin. "Oh yeah, Horus was real proud. Says it was the biggest, fattest pigeon that ever flew, if ya know what I mean."

"And?"

"And that's why you gotta promise to let me go! This is serious shit, Maggie. Cut me loose."

"Tell me first, then you can go back to your junk."

Chemical paused, licked his bloody lips as his eyes darted back and forth conspiratorially. "Alright, but these fellas are hard, you understand? You already seen what they done to Meerkat."

"Chemical," Maggie was impatient.

"The dryfoot pigeon... Horus told me... that it were... Hadian..."

"Who?" Maggie recoiled in genuine incomprehension.

"What?" If Maggie was confused, Rachael was blindsided. She was instantly able to place the name.

" _Senator_ Hadian, yo," Chemical stressed.

Rachael and Maggie exchanged a pained, wide-eyed look of panic.

Chapter 6

"This is insane!" Rachael rapidly fired. Maggie and Rachael huddled at the stern of the _Soft Cell_ for a frantic conference, out of earshot of Chemical Ali G. The sun was burning off the morning's cloud cover and Rachael shielded her eyes to glare.

"It's bullshit," Maggie replied. Despite her muted tone, she packed plenty of emphasis into her vulgarity. "Don't go making some sort of federal case out of this."

"Federal case?" Rachael said in disbelief. "He just said-"

"He just said nothing," Maggie was trying to keep her voice low and level. "And don't start pretending that that moron knows any more about what's going on here than you and I do."

"But if..." Rachael tried to restrain herself. Her elite media, liberal bias was tingling. She could smell the blood of a story in the water. "He just implied that Senator Hadian was having an affair... if Meerkat _was_ pregnant... that makes the Senator the number one-"

"Stop," Maggie ordered, holding up a single finger. "It's bullshit, remember?"

"Well, it didn't sound like bullshit."

"No, you just don't _want_ it to sound like bullshit. That's very different."

"Oy!" Chemical yelled from the prow of the craft. "Ya gonna untie me or what?"

"Shit," Maggie cursed.

"What?"

"I can't let that moron go," Maggie rapidly whispered.

"But you told him you'd let him go."

"That's before he dropped that load of horse manure." Maggie ran a hand through her thick hair. "If he started babbling to other Rafters about Meerkat and Senator Hadian... well, they'll jump to the same dumb conclusion that you just did."

"You can't leave him tied up to the front of your ship," Rachael stole a glance up to the bow. Chemical was watching the two of them intently. "What can you do with him?"

"I can't arrest him. I don't have his franchise, I'm not his Magistrate." Maggie also stole a glance over her shoulder at Chemical.

"Then who is?"

"I'm not really sure," Maggie admitted. "Chemical's not that reliable at paying his bills..."

"Then, he might not have a Magistrate?" Rachael asked in disbelief.

"Possibly."

"And then no one has the authority to arrest him?"

"Right."

"Doesn't this strike any of you as a serious flaw in your legal system?" In exasperation, Rachael raised her voice above its former hushed whisper. On the prow, Chemical's curiosity was piqued.

Maggie sighed. "Don't worry, I can take care of this."

"How?"

"We'll take him to the Gray Beards."

Rachael shook her head in disbelief. "Is that some sort of rock band?"

"No, there..." Maggie thought about it. "I don't know, I guess you could say they're the Raft's ruling council."

"At last," Rachael feigned relief. "We find that someone is actually in charge of the madhouse."

"Not in charge, per se, but... well, it's hard to explain."

"Why am I not surprised."

"Anyway, if anyone knows who has Chemical's franchise, it'll be Gandalf."

"Geldof?" Rachael raised an eyebrow.

"No, _Gandalf_. Like in hobbits... and rings."

"Seriously?" Rachael smirked. "Does everyone on the Raft have a 70's biker CB handle?"

"We leave our tax names onshore," Maggie answered, perhaps missing the sarcasm. "Last I checked, his junk was moored off Agate Point. If we have a good tail wind... but we'd better get moving, the whole Raft will be sailing north very soon." Maggie stepped to the helm and checked the gauges of the control panel.

"What's north?"

"The San Juans, Friday Harbor. The Freaky Kon-Tikis. They're this weekend," Maggie said, distracted.

"The what?"

"The Freaky-" Maggie paused, looking up from the helm. "You haven't heard of the Freaky Kon-Tikis? "she asked in disbelief. "Come on, even dryfoots have heard of that."

Rachael paused in thought. She remembered reading an article many years ago, something about the Raft having an annual festival. A boat race. "Well, yeah," she allowed.

"Well, it's a tradition," Maggie continued. "It's our holiday, our only holiday. Sort of like the Seafair hydros, a milk carton derby, opening day of boating season, and Burning Man all wrapped up into one. Everyone on the Raft sails north for the Kon-Tiki races. It's our holiday. A tradition."

The look on Maggie's face told Rachael that Maggie was unhappy with her explication. She shook her head and continued. "We'll have to take Agate Pass," Maggie changed the subject, tapping a gauge. "That little merry chase drained the electrics. There's no time to recharge." Maggie moved from behind the helm and began to work at the rigging. "I hope you don't still get seasick," she added.

Rachael coughed. She hadn't quite stopped feeling seasick since she'd come aboard. "No, no, not as bad," she lied. "Why?"

"Oh," Maggie smiled. "The Agate Pass can be... thrilling."

"Wonderful," Rachael said sarcastically. She sighed, leaned up against the grab rail and turned her face to the warming sun. "Maggie," she began.

"Yes?"

"If anything that Chemical just said is true..."

"But it's not."

"But if it is..."

"I don't want to think about it," Maggie said as she pulled on a halyard.

"If Horus didn't kill Meerkat..."

"Rachael," Maggie paused in her effort to raise her mainsail. "I need you to stay focused here. We can't jump off that cliff and hope there's water below."

"Yes," Rachael agreed, at least logically. "Right."

"Good," Maggie said and returned to her halyard.

"Oy!" Chemical piped up from the pulpit. "Is someone gonna let me go?"

#

The Agate Pass did not disappoint.

Rachael tossed her breakfast early and spent much of rest of the thrilling ride though the Pass dry heaving at the grab rail.

The water was swift and the tailwind strong. The _Soft Cell_ made excellent time, circling Bainbridge Island clockwise.

But Rachael missed most of it. When she finally felt strong enough to rise from the gunwale, she collapsed face first onto one of the cockpit's benches and groaned. For five minutes at a time she'd rise from the cold clamminess of the bench cushion and ruminate on the sight of Maggie standing radiant and proud at the helm of the _Soft Cell_. The ship was heeling over substantially with the force of a substantial tailwind, bucking as the wind danced, but Maggie stood at the helm firm. Chemical hooted in pleasure, still hogtied to the pulpit, bathed in the spray of the churning water. Maggie had the sails trim and the helm steady, the whole craft cut like a bullet through the fast-moving water.

The bile would always quickly rise in the back of Rachael's throat and she quickly had to return to the cold comfort of the bench cushion or end up back at the gunwale. But even through the muddy haze of motion sickness, she was impressed.

The whole morning, from the first word of the murder back at the office to the sight of the Agate Pass Bridge passing overhead, had been a whirl of emotions and new experiences for Rachael. She'd prepared herself before leaving dryland for the emotional hurdle of reconnecting with Maggie. Even before she'd picked up the phone, she'd willed herself to expect the worst. But now, face to face with Maggie, she found herself at a loss to handle the changes that five years had brought to her old lover.

This Maggie, the Maggie aboard the _Soft Cell,_ was so different than the Maggie that Rachael had known back in her day. The Maggie currently piloting a sailing yacht through the dangerous waters of a narrow, rocky pass... well, the old Maggie would have never dreamed of doing anything of the like.

Five years ago, when she'd dropped the bomb on Rachael, Maggie had been so different. When she'd told Rachael she was selling the house they shared, the house Maggie's parents had left her, and buying a sailing yacht to join the Raft, Maggie had seemed so small. No, not small, not less, but... shorter. Rachael could explain it no other way. Though logic told Rachael no one could gain inches in their forties, Maggie genuinely appeared to Rachael more statuesque. For what it was worth, living barefoot aboard the Raft appeared to agree with Maggie. Rachael smiled...

Briefly... then the dry heaves quickly had her bending over the grab rail once again.

Despite weeks of Rachael's protests, emotional fits, and last ditch attempts at groveling, Maggie had followed through with her threat. The house was sold, for pennies on the dollar, leaving Rachael homeless. And then Maggie had run away. To the Raft. Neither of them had seriously entertained the notion of Rachael accompanying her. It was self-evident that Rachael had no desire to live aboard a boat, even set foot on one, and no real festering discontent with society at large. But Maggie had had enough. She'd known that leaving dryland had meant leaving Rachael, and she'd gone regardless. The pain still burned deep inside Rachael. Though she'd buried it deep inside, and almost forgotten exactly where she'd dug the hole to hide it, it still burned inside her.

Had it really been so bad?

Perhaps if Rachael had been more understanding... maybe if she'd been a little more sympathetic when the café had closed, Maggie wouldn't have run away. But no, after five years and so many tears, Rachael could no longer summon up enough self-pity to blame herself. It had been Maggie's decision and Maggie's decision only. Rachael no longer blamed herself, even though, for so many years, she had so desperately wanted to.

The café hadn't been much, hardly even a living wage for Maggie, but it had been her dream. She'd worked so hard to renovate the location – an old storefront facing onto Greenlake – and planned out the menu in meticulous detail. Some half-buried, girly part of Maggie had risen to the forefront, taking on the duties of pastry chef, barista, and entrepreneur with gusto. She'd poured her heart into concocting an assortment of tasty vegan treats to complement the fair-trade, shade-grown coffee.

The results were an unmitigated success, the small shop instantly becoming a go-to stop for morning joggers and walkers circling the lake. Left alone, Maggie could have easily turned the single, hole-in-the-wall shop into a two- or three-café chain, dotting the city. But it was not to be. Less than two years after pulling her first espresso, Maggie was closing the café's doors.

She'd bribed the wrong health inspector.

There'd never been any issues, nothing wrong with the cleanliness or upkeep of Maggie's café, or the food she served. It was just part of doing business, the backhanders paid to the county officials. Out of inexperience, Maggie had bribed the wrong inspector. The one she'd bribed had been from ADA, or OSHA, or something else other than the health department. It was hard to keep track, the inspectors swarmed like files. The bribed official had been happy enough to take the money, though Maggie's store had passed his inspection anyway. Perhaps he made a point to mention in his report that Maggie's café was especially wheelchair accessible. Regardless, the genuine health inspector had failed to see the humor of the situation. Maggie hadn't a second thousand dollars on hand to bribe another inspector, and pleas of poverty fell on deaf ears. Maybe out of spite more than principle, the inspector had shut Maggie's café down.

A new thousand dollars was soon acquired, from Rachael, the bribe paid in full, but the café was never really able to reclaim its former glory. After the skull-and-crossbones yellow tape and the list of health department violations had graced the front doors of the establishment, it was hard to win back clientele. Maggie had tried. But it was soon obvious that there'd be no keeping her head above water.

Inevitably, she'd gotten behind in the rent and the bills from suppliers began to mount up. When the coffee ran dry and the debt collectors started to call, Maggie knew the dream was over. She shut the doors and walked away.

After that, she refused to leave the couch for a month.

She was a lump – a destroyed lump that Rachael passed heading to and from work. She ate junk food and watched TV. Nothing Rachael could do or say could rouse Maggie from her funk. Reminders that things weren't so bad, that there was always another café to be opened, fell against a shield of indifference. Rachael grew annoyed and snippy. Soon, the two of them were no longer speaking at all, sleeping next to each other in silence, going through the motion of their lives, but no longer together.

It must have been during one of Maggie's marathon bouts of television that she came to learn about the Raft.

Everyone knew about the Raft, of course, as it was often in the news. But until the failure of her café, Maggie had always had the deepest disdain for the movement. A bunch of right wing wackos, she'd said. She mirrored the popular opinion of the Raft. But some documentary, or snippet in the news, or daytime talk show had caused Maggie's opinions to make a radical shift. Suddenly, after a month of inactivity, there was new life in Maggie's bones. She dressed and went to the bookshop. Rachael came home to a kitchen table covered by books written by a wide selection of dead white men. Names like Hayek, Rothbard, and Von Mises.

Maggie's political shift was shocking, abrupt, and total.

From no communication, Maggie veered uncontrollably past normal, civil discourse to annoying loudmouth bore. Rachael had always savored conversations over dinner with Maggie. Her wit was remarkable, her social insights keen, and her intellectual curiosity almost boundless. But her dinner conversation quickly devolved into little other than deconstructionist rants about the last fifty years of American history and the government's intervention in it. Maggie's language changed, she began to assume political foundations in Rachael that she didn't possess. She was quick to dismiss and always irritable.

Rachael began to long for the days of the old Maggie. The listless lump on the couch.

So when Maggie, out of the blue, announced her intention of her selling the house and joining the Raft, Rachael had given it little credence. She'd dismissed it as just another out-of-left-field notion that would pass as abruptly as it had appeared.

But as the weeks passed and it became apparent that Maggie was genuinely perusing her plans to put their home on the market, Rachael realized that Maggie had not been joking. She was serious, she was really going to leave dryland and live on a boat. Rachael was devastated. Rachael was hurt. Rachael was angry.

And then, one day, Maggie was gone.

And here they were, five years later, with Rachael throwing up over the grab rail of the very boat Maggie had sold their home to purchase. Rachael righted herself and again watched Maggie at the helm of the _Soft Cell_. The sun shone on her face and wind whipped the curls of her hair around her face.

Rachael should be mad, she should storm about and stomp her feet and yell. But all Rachael was feeling was a strange inner calm, the pleasure of seeing Maggie safe. When the wire had come and Rachael had assumed that the dead woman was Maggie... but now that was almost forgotten, replaced by the sight of Maggie stand proud and tall at the helm of her boat.

So much taller than that lump on the couch that Rachael remembered.

Chapter 7

The Raft was a floating Barnum & Bailey Circus. Rachael could describe it no other way.

The Agate Pass opened out into the slower, calmer waters of the Puget Sound. Circling the northern tip of Bainbridge Island, the _Soft Cell_ came sailing into the wakes of a hodgepodge of small craft constituting the main flotilla of the Raft.

The first outrider of the Raft Rachael caught sight of was an elderly man standing aboard a paddle board. He was moving away from the shore, for no apparent destination, buck naked except for an elaborate Indian headdress of eagle feathers.

He waved as the _Soft Cell_ sailed silently past. Maggie returned his salute.

Soon, there were more boats moored here and there, moored with a comfortable amount of water between each craft. But as Maggie sailed farther around the north end of the island, the craft grew thicker on the water. Before long, artificial islands floated to the left and right of the _Soft Cell,_ whole islands formed by the lashing together of large, mismatched collections of boats and dinghies. Everywhere there were signs of life: on one craft, a group of long-haired, bearded men performing in a drum circle; on another, a harem of burka-veiled women stood watching the passing of Maggie's boat while a solitary, smiling, gold-toothed man sat at the boat's prow, smoking a hookah.

A cross between Seafair and Burning Man indeed, Rachael thought, remembering Maggie's off-the-cuff description. Rachael had no idea what she'd expected, but she marveled at each and every ship as it passed. She'd never understood the scale of the Raft, the reports on the news had never done it justice. It was _big,_ Rachael realized as Maggie sailed the _Soft Cell_ past cluster after cluster of bustling boats. How many could there be? Five hundred? A thousand? It had to be nearer to a thousand, she thought, climbing to her feet and trying to see back to the edge of the Raft, back along the route by which they'd entered. Rachael could no longer make the path Maggie had followed through the clusters of boats, the Raft seemed to close in behind them.

Rachael turned her attention back towards the bow. She could just make out something large at very center of the Raft. As they closed in, the outline of a ship resolved into view. The ship sat at the epicenter of the commune. As Rachael sailed, she could see the shiny chrome of the multi-decked Art Deco ferry, the _Kalakala_ , before her.

Rachael laughed. She knew that the old ferry, a famous piece of Northwest history, had been purchased and restored by a member of the Raft, but to see it in person was quite something else. The mass of the great silver ferry dominated the congregation of ships, sitting at their hub like an old church at the center of some rural community. It glistened in the morning sunlight, slick with the earlier light rain.

"The _Kalakala_!" Rachael said with joy. "There it is!"

"That's Gandalf's junk," Maggie replied.

"What- Gandalf's boat is the _Kalakala_?" Rachael felt like a schoolgirl. "We're going to go aboard?"

"You bet," Maggie smiled. "Sort of our town hall. Gandalf bought it from some dryfoot years ago and restored it. Its car deck is the only place a good number of Rafters can stand shoulder to shoulder."

"So this Gandalf," Rachael said playfully. "He's some sort of wizard?"

Maggie chuckled. "Smart ass."

"No, seriously. What is he? Does he head this Gray Beard council?" Rachael's reporter persona was making an apprentice.

"I guess. Owning the town hall sort of makes you the Mayor by default," Maggie shrugged.

"Then, he's not elected? Appointed?"

"No, nothing like that."

"I guess elections would be too structured for the Raft."

"They would," Maggie nodded. "Legend has it that the Raft chose the members of the council by measuring the length of beards. Gandalf, with the longest whiskers, was made chairman."

"That's ridiculous."

"It's misogynistic bullshit," Maggie said with venom. "But it served an important purpose."

"What's that?"

"To look justifiably ridiculous to anyone watching from dryland. It's all unofficial you see, the Raft. It doesn't really exist. It's survived by walking a thin line of plausible deniability with the dryfoot authorities. It doesn't exist, therefore there's never been any need to do anything about it. The second anything aboard the Raft started to look official, like a governing council, the aura of deniabliity would have been broken."

"So you choose your leaders by the length of their beards?"

"Exactly. Stupid. Juvenile. Sexist. Totally impractical."

"Just like the Raft," Rachael smiled.

Maggie returned her grin. "But even without the Gray Beards, Gandalf might still run most everything out here. After all, he started the Exchange, and it's his gold that backs it."

The word 'gold' caught Rachael's ear. "What? Exchange? Gold?"

"Mmm," Maggie's grin turned into a sly smirk.

"You're kidding me?"

"Nope. A room full of it somewhere. Aboard the _Kalakala._ "

"A gray-bearded wizard, sitting on a horde of gold?" Rachael said in disbelief.

"Life is stranger than fiction," Maggie said.

"At least the Raft is."

#

The rafts of boats were growing thicker as they neared the _Kalakala_. Dozens of craft were moored together, bobbing gently on the waves. Twenty yards from the hull of the old ferry, the raft grew so thick that the _Soft Cell_ could sail no farther. Here, at the core of the Raft, boats formed one large artificial island, wrapping the _Kalakala_ in a protective shell of smaller ships.

Maggie pulled up along the side of a large, opulent pleasure craft and yelled out "Ahoy" in a deep, resonating voice. From the lower decks of the pleasure yacht, a pair of young men appeared and rapidly helped Maggie secure the two boats together.

"From here, we walk," Maggie told Rachael once the lines were secure.

"Walk? Across the other boats?"

"Yes, it's how it works. This is as close as we'll get to the _Kalakala_ until this Raft breaks up and starts to sail north. It's customary to allow other Rafters use of your decks for transit. Sometimes these Rafts can get pretty big. Everyone out here kind of likes to huddle together." Maggie moved up the length of the _Soft Cell_ toward Chemical. "Come on, let's go see the Wizard," she told him.

"Piss off," Chemical cursed.

"I could just leave you tied up here," Maggie said.

"No, you can't, Maggie Straight. I'll sue."

"You can't sue, Chemical, you don't have a Magistrate."

"But-"

"Come on." Maggie took a pocket knife from her jeans and cut the zip tie that held Chemical to the pulpit.

With Chemical Ali G free, Maggie took him by the scruff of the neck and lead him off the deck of the _Soft Cell_ and up onto the deck of the neighboring pleasure yacht.

"Maggie Straight?" Rachael asked, scrambling up onto the yacht to follow.

"Yeah," Maggie sighed. "Maggie Straight the Magistrate," she said.

"Really?"

"You said everyone on the Raft has 70's Citizen Band handles..."

"Ooo, can I call you that?" Rachael smirked.

"Absolutely not!" Maggie fired back.

#

Gandalf made a hole-in-one putt, a two-banker, once off the angled support of a four-foot-tall Space Needle, and once off the miniature _Dick's_ _Drive-In_ sign. His ball vanished through the Astroturf before the burger restaurant, appearing again below it at the precipice of the diorama of Snoqualmie Falls. It skittered down the plastic water, dropping onto the bridge deck of the I-90 bridge. Along this, it scuttled back and forth, bouncing off guide walls until it broke out onto the green surrounding the hole, a reproduction of Husky Stadium, complete with working scoreboard.

His golf ball circled the hole twice, then dropped into the collective cheers of everyone gathered on the _Kalakala_ 's car deck.

The representatives of Arrowsoft were duly impressed.

They were three young men, pasty-skinned computer types, dressed in slacks. Their youth stood in stark contrast to the other putt-putt golfers, the rest of the Gray Beard council. Everyone cheered, everyone was having a good time. The business meeting was going well. Better than Gandalf could have imagined.

"Well putt," the Gray Beard called Orac said, stepping up to tee off. The Space Needle hole of Gandalf's Seattle-themed nine-hole putt-putt course was the second hardest, but through practice, Gandalf had learned its tricks. The course, after all, filled a sizable chunk of _Kalakala_ 's car deck, and he could come down from his quarters above and play whenever he chose. The only hole he couldn't reliably ace was the ninth hole, the J.P. Patches clown head trap. It always stumped him and required at least three or four swings.

Orac chipped at his ball. He made the bank off the Space Needle, but missed the ricochet off the _Dick's_ sign. His putt floundered, missing the opening to the Falls. He'd have to take a deuce at least.

The car deck let out a collective groan.

The Arrowsoft boys were suitably entertained. Dressed in their company shirts with the Arrowsoft Robin Hood logo on the breast, they had originally looked uncomfortable stepping aboard. Admittedly, a restored Art Deco car ferry was a strange place for a business meeting, particularly for computer professionals.

The Arrowsoft boys were typical geeks, with the requisite lack of social graces. But as Gandalf had shown them around, given them a tour of the engine room, the restored Horseshoe Café - converted to his living quarters - and finally brought them to his nine-hole golf course, they'd warmed to their surroundings. When Gandalf had suggested a quick game... well, the Arrowsoft boys couldn't resist.

"You see, it all comes down to a trade surplus for the Raft," Gandalf continued.

Six holes in, and he'd been pitching the Raft to the Arrowsoft representatives the whole game. Gandalf wasn't entirely sure they were paying attention. It was possible that the putt-putt golf had been too good of an idea. They were focused on the complexities of Gandalf's Seattle course and not on the idea of opening a software development center aboard the Raft. Gandalf needed their full attention, but he didn't want to lecture them. He hoped that at least some of what he was saying was sinking in, because he'd practiced his Raft sales pitch over and over. He knew his numbers back to front, the cost-to-risk benefit of the whole enterprise. If only he could get the Arrowsoft boys to listen for ten minutes, he was sure he could blow their boots off. Both literally and figuratively.

"If we were the US Government, we'd be thinking that everything was wonderful. Trade surplus, did you say?" Gandalf laughed at his own joke. Orac was squaring up to take his second swing. "That sounds great! Give us more of that. But that's just the stupidity of it all: those that run the country. They have such a poor understanding of wealth. The government, like so many people, foolishly confuses money with wealth. But it isn't. Money and wealth have very little to do with one other. After all, you can't _eat_ money, you can't drive money around. Money in itself is worthless. Less than worthless, because in all probability, you exchanged something of great worth, as in your time and effort, to get it. And time and effort, my friends, is something that you can never get back."

Orac took his swing. His ball dropped through the opening to the Falls, down the plastic waterfall, across the floating bridge and rolled to a halt in the end zone of Husky Stadium, an inch from the hole. A second sympathetic groan rose up from the other players. Absentmindedly, Orac crossed the course and tapped the ball in its last inch.

One of the Arrowsoft boys stepped up to the tee to take his putt.

Gandalf continued. "And there you have the fallacy of trade deficits. The government thinks they're bad because money flows out of the country. But that thinking ignores what's flowing back in. It is trade after all, an exchange of goods and services. Something must be flowing back in, something of at least equal value to the money that's flowing out; otherwise, why would the trades be taking place? And what's flowing back into the country is real wealth, something that you can eat or drive or play Xbox games on. Something of _value_. Unlike money."

The Arrowsoft boy putted. He made the Space Needle bank, he made the _Dick's_ _Drive-In_ bank, he made the opening to the Falls, but his ball lacked the momentum to cross the bridge. It rolled back, coming to rest up against the plastic waterfall.

"And there lies the bind that the Raft is in." Everyone was concentrating on the golf, but Gandalf kept on with his pitch. "We're, for all intents and purposes, a trading partner to the US. Perhaps you might consider us still part of America – that point I will not belabor – but the very fact that our two populations are forbidden to intermingle – for fear of stiff tax penalizations – marks us apart.

"And as a US Trading partner, we suffer the indignity of running a trade surplus with the mainland. Our labor flows out, in the form of Rafters employed by dryfoot companies, and money flows in. US dollars, yes, but money all the same. And you see, that's our undoing – our Achilles Heel. What can we do with money? What good is money to the Raft? Money is something that should flow out of the Raft, and goods and services something that should flow in. We're depleting our resources to maintain our survival. For the Raft to grow, for the Raft to prosper, we need to reverse that flow. And that, my friends, is the reason that Arrowsoft should consider the Raft a viable site for a new development center."

Was anyone listening? It was hard to say. They were having a good time, putting away. Was Gandalf talking only for his own benefit? Was the whole meeting a failure? He had to press on.

"You see, hiring a Rafter may be beneficial for a dryfoot company. Lots of them do it. It's no different that hiring a telecommuter on dryland. But even though the Rafters might not feel any special commitment to paying their income taxes, the dryfoot employer most certainly has to. There's no loophole that keeps Arrowsoft, for example, from paying FICA on each and every employee, Rafter or not. And this is where our mutual benefits collide.

"You see, the Raft is jam-packed with highly educated, skilled workers, many with degrees in exactly the fields that technology companies such as yours require. Should Arrowsoft open a development center wholly aboard the Raft – separate and apart from its dryland parent company – it would be to the benefit of both Arrowsoft and the Raft. Arrowsoft would get access to a skilled workforce, costing pennies on the dollar to their dryfoot counterparts. With no income tax, no Social Security, no OSHA, no thirty-two-hour workweek, no government overhead at all, you could double the take-home pay of every employee and see a reduction in the company's overall payroll.

"Think about that: think about the bottom line, and tell me what I'm saying doesn't make sense."

Gandalf could see that his words were finally sinking in. The Arrowsoft boys had paused in their game to listen to what he had to say.

"And most of all, you'd be paying your workers in Sum, not dollars. The Raft's own currency. Backed by gold, backed by the labor of the Rafter's themselves. It's stable, a genuine store of value. There's no inflation aboard the Raft, my friends, no government constantly chiseling away at your company's coffers to erase the evidence of their own misappropriations. An hour of work you create aboard the Raft will be worth an hour tomorrow as well as today. That's stability you can count on. Build on.

"And for the Raft, I hardly need to explain the benefits to you. Employment, stability, prestige. But most of all, a reversal to that dreaded trade surplus of which I spoke before. A change in the tide. Rafter labor, wealth staying aboard the Raft. Money leaving for goods arriving. That is what the Raft needs to prosper. And in partnership with a company like Arrowsoft, the Raft might become something more than just a-"

"Oy! Get off!" a voice screamed at the far end of the car deck, derailing Gandalf's sales train as it was just about to pull into the station.

"Behave!" Maggie's voice echoed down the length of the car deck. "Or it'll be the frying pan again!"

"What the hell-?" Gandalf caught sight of the three figures walking the length of the _Kalakala_ , approaching Gandalf and the miniature golf course. Well, two figures walking and one large man being dragged by the ear. Oh God, no! Gandalf panicked. Not here, not now! Just when he was about to cinch the deal – convince Arrowsoft that the Raft was the right place for it to do business. "No! No! No!" he started crying out, scampering in his bare feet towards Maggie, Chemial Ali G, and an attractive red-haired women he'd never met. "No! No!" he waved his putter at them.

"Maggie!" Gandalf shuffled up to the approaching disaster. "What are you doing?" he half screamed, half whispered.

"Chemical here resisted arrest," Maggie said, and gave Chemical's ear a twist.

"Ouch!" the large man with a bloodied face screamed.

"No, what are you doing here, right now, with him... here?" Gandalf struck the metal car deck with his putter, punctuating his displeasure at Maggie's presence with an echoing clank.

Perhaps when Maggie had said "wizard," Rachael had prepared herself with a mental image of Gandalf that was wholly impractical. She'd certainly expected Gandalf to project a more imposing presence, something more aged and all-powerful. What she got was a small, middle-aged man, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt, baggy shorts, and a pith helmet. She'd expected a wizard and had gotten someone halfway between Hunter S. Thompson and an unkempt biker. His beard, however, was most definitely substantial. At least there was that.

He was furious, they'd obviously stumbled into the middle of something. Other middle-aged, bearded men watched from the greens of an elaborate miniature golf course, along with three well-dressed young men.

"You don't know either?" Maggie let go of Chemical. He collapsed down to the car deck, holding his injured ear.

"Know what?" Gandalf replied, confusion tempering his outrage. He looked down at the mess that was Chemical, realizing perhaps that the situation was serious. "What going on?"

"Meerkat, she's..." Maggie paused.

"She's what?" Gandalf prodded.

"She's dead."

Gandalf let his putter clatter to the car deck.

"No, she can't, I-"

Rachael spoke up. "Her body was found, washed up on the shore of Bainbridge Island this morning." Rachael took the photocopy from her pocket, unfolded it and handed it to Gandalf. "There was ID, her real name was apparently Joanna Church."

Gandalf took the photocopy, but didn't seem to really look at it. He was dumbstruck. In shock.

From behind him, Orac called out. "What's going on, Gandalf?"

"Nothing!" Gandalf snapped back to reality. He handed back Rachael's photocopy, uninspected.

Gandalf's gaze fell on Rachael, silently questioning.

"This is Rachael Hanks-" Maggie began to introduce Rachael.

"Bigallo," Rachael interrupted.

"What?" Maggie was lost.

"Bigallo. I'm Rachael Bigallo." Rachael held out a hand to Gandalf. "I'm an old friend of Maggie's. I'm with the _Times_."

Maggie winced.

"A reporter?" Gandalf seemed to panic. He looked nervously over his shoulder at the collected golfers on the greens. "Good morning," he continued nervously, taking Rachael's arm and leading her away from the miniature golf course. "The _Times_ you say? They call me Gandalf... the Wizard," he laughed uncomfortably. "This is my ship, the _Kalakala_..." he waved a sweeping hand.

"Yes, I-"

"I purchased her in 2024, from the foundation that was attempting to restore her to-" Gandalf was leading Rachael farther away from the golf course and the representatives of Arrowsoft.

Maggie took a few steps and caught him by the arm. "Gandalf, we're not here for the tour."

"Maggie," Gandalf whispered. "Keep your voice down."

"Why? Everyone is going to know by lunch."

"No, I have clients here. From dryland."

"Clients?" Maggie was confused.

"Clients. Business interests. People looking to invest." Gandalf shot a worried look at Rachael, and realized she was no one he wanted to be whispering in front of. He let go of Rachael's arm and took Maggie's, leading her away from both Rachael and the golf game.

When they were out of everyone's earshot, he said, "Maggie, what's going on?"

"Meerkat's dead."

"Yes, you said. But what does Chemical have to – where's Horus?" Gandalf realized.

"Put his boots on."

"Then Chemical?"

"No, he just showed up suddenly while I was aboard Horus's boat. He was as surprised as you to hear about Meerkat."

Gandalf gave Rachael a look out of the corner of his eye. "And the reporter?"

"She's an old friend. She was worried."

"But a _reporter_?"

"She's all right. She has connections on dryland. She's useful."

Gandalf nodded. The weight of the situation hit him. "Oh God, Meerkat... what are we going to do?" he asked, his eyes pleading.

"We're going to get Horus and turn him over to the cops."

"Yes, yes..." Gandalf nodded along.

"Before they get the urge to come out here."

The idea shocked Gandalf to attention. "But if they do that..."

"Right, so I have to find Horus soon. It's just... Chemical there," Maggie cocked her head at where Chemical still lay on the deck. "He has this crazy story... about Meerkat... and why she was killed. We need to keep it under wraps."

"Yes, I can imagine," Gandalf agreed.

"Who's his Magistrate?"

"What?" Gandalf thought about it. "Does he have one?"

"He has to have a Magistrate," Maggie countered. "How can he trade without a Magistrate?"

"He doesn't," Gandalf exhaled. "As far as I know."

"Then how does he eat?"

"Well, his business isn't exactly aboveboard, Maggie!" Gandalf exploded. "I assume he and Horus get everything they need from dryland in exchange for their product."

"And you've allowed this?" Maggie said in shock.

"It's not against the law," Gandalf was defensive. "At least no Raft law, if we actually had any."

Maggie growled, rubbing at her eyes. "Then you've got to hold him. Here on the _Kalakala_."

"I can't do that," Gandalf protested.

"You've got to. If he starts shooting off his mouth..."

"No, if word got out that I was holding a Rafter against his will, I'd get lynched."

"Gandalf, I need time. I need to move quickly. I can't haul Chemical along with me. If I can't get to Horus before the Feds get to us. Do you understand how people are going to _react_?"

"Yes, of course, but -"

"But nothing," Maggie interrupted. "Think of something. I only need a day."

Gandalf threw up his hands, tilting back his helmet. "Today of all days, Maggie. I have three executives from Arrowsoft right there. I was _this_ close to convincing them to move a part of their company out here to the Raft!"

"Gandalf..."

"Do you know what that would mean? What that could do for the Raft?"

"I'm sorry Meerkat's bloody murder is an inconvenience to you."

"Alright, alright, a day. But that's it. You know tomorrow is the Freaky Kon-Tikis. I can't haul Chemical all the way up there. Word would get out."

"I know, I know," Maggie said gratefully. "Thank you. And I'm sure Chemical likes putt-putt golf. He can play with your Arrowsoft friends. Why don't you introduce them?"

"Thanks," Gandalf rolled his eyes.

#

"I wouldn't worry, dear," a voice came from behind Rachael. "Boys and their business, you know?"

"I'm sorry?" Rachael said, turning to meet a middle-aged woman carrying a tray of drinks. She had an aged but well-dressed quality about her. She was wearing full makeup and a number of large accessories. Her clothes were perhaps a few years too young for her – a little too tight – but she was able to pull off the look.

"Iced tea?" she asked, offering Rachael a drink from the tray.

"Oh, no, thank you," Rachael said.

"Are you with Arrowsoft, dear?" the woman asked.

"Arrowsoft?" Rachael couldn't contain her surprise. She looked back to the putting green and the three clean-cut men. "No, no, I'm here with Maggie." Rachael said, her reporter senses tingling.

"Oh, Maggie," the woman smiled softly. "We all love Maggie so much. After that terrible business with the Shane boy. She's so wonderful. A real hero."

"Shane?" Rachael didn't follow.

"I'm sorry, I haven't introduced myself. I'm Tiger Print," the woman said. "I'm Gandalf's wife."

Tiger Print, it made sense. She wasn't wearing a pair of tiger print spandex pants, but Rachael was sure that the woman would have a pair of the titular trousers in her closet.

"Hello, I'm Rachael Bigallo." Tiger Print held out a little finger from the tray, all she could spare, and Rachael shook it.

"Nice to meet you. You're a friend of Maggie's, you say? We get so few dryfoots out here, and today we have so many. What a wonderful surprise. Are you sure you wouldn't like some iced tea?"

"Yes, thanks, I'm sure."

Maggie was returning from her private discussion with Gandalf. She seemed content. Behind her, Gandalf seemed frazzled. Maggie crossed the car deck and stepped up to the woman with the tray.

"Tiger Print, dear," she said and kissed Tiger Print on the cheek.

"Maggie, what a surprise!" Tiger Print said with honest joy. "What brings you aboard?"

Maggie gestured at Chemical. "Can you watch him for a while? Make him feel at home."

"Of course, dear, anything for you. What has he done this time?"

"Nothing. Yet. Can you keep him out of trouble?"

"Of course."

Then Maggie's tone turned serious. "I'm afraid I have some horrible news, Tiger."

"What's wrong?"

"It's Meerkat. She fell overboard. She's dead."

Tiger Print paused, but she didn't seem to waver. The tray before her remained totally motionless. "Oh, no. How sad. Poor girl... Chemical didn't-"

"No, but if you can still keep an eye on him."

"We will, we will," Tiger Print swallowed. "And to think, I just saw her last night, alive and happy, dancing aboard the _Geoduck..._ how horrible..."

"The _Geoduck_ you say?"

"Yes, dear. I can only guess that you're going to go look for Horus?"

"I am."

"Good girl. You be careful, you understand? Anyone who could do such a thing to Meerkat... he might be capable of anything. Well, this iced tea isn't improving with age. You'll excuse me, dears." And Tiger Print started towards the golf course, shimmying in her bare feet.

"Chemical?" Rachael asked.

"It's taken care of," Maggie replied.

"So. What do we do now?" Rachael watched Tiger Print hand out iced tea to the Gray Beards and Arrowsoft employees.

"Now?" Maggie said. "We get some breakfast."

Chapter 8

"Tiger Print mentioned," Rachael began as they waited for the waitress to prepare a table, "back on the _Kalakala_ , something about the Shane boy kidnapping. I remember that, two or three years ago. Did you have something to do with it?"

They were stand on the spacious open-air rear deck of the _Smiling Geoduck_ , next to its blatantly pornographic sign. The _Smiling Geoduck_ had once been a Parisian riverboat restaurant, before being towed halfway around the world to serve as the Raft's only public eating establishment. It still had much of its French charm, with a rear deck filled with cast iron bistro tables and an inner lower deck that doubled as a disco. Even at ten in the morning, the _Geoduck_ was busy with patrons finishing up their breakfasts of omelets and French toast.

"I didn't kidnap him, if that's what you mean."

"No, it isn't."

"It's a long story," Maggie replied, distracted, looking for their waitress.

"Tiger Print called you a hero."

"Yeah, well..." Maggie hedged.

The waitress returned after clearing a table. They were seated at the railing overlooking the _Geoduck's_ companion vessel, an old barge covered in topsoil and planted as a floating vegetable garden. The summer was far enough along that the corn was waist high and the beans were growing appreciably up their guides. The morning clouds had cleared and the Cascades could be seen over the skyline of the city across the Sound. Rachael took off her coat, hanging it on the back of her chair.

"Well?" Rachael said after they were seated. Ice water was poured and large, single-sided menus arrived.

"The _Times_ must have done a story on the Shane kidnapping." Maggie began looking over the menu.

"Sure. The father was a rich Wall Street inside trader, right? Who fled to the Raft to escape arrest? His boy was kidnapped. Held for ransom. I forget how it ended, though. Didn't he pay the ransom?"

"No," Maggie said, not taking her eyes of her menu. "That's just it. I rescued the boy."

"You did _what_?" Rachael dropped her menu.

Maggie winced, "Well, not just me, but..." Maggie seemed to have decided something. "I think I'll have lunch... chowder."

"Screw the chowder." Rachael had forgotten about food. "I don't understand. How did you _rescue_ the boy?"

"Rescue? Rescue. As I said, it's a long story."

"Well, now you have to tell me."

Maggie seemed annoyed. "We don't have time."

"But we have time for chowder?"

"Alright," Maggie sighed. She put down her menu. "You see, the boy's father was – is – one of my members. I'm his Magistrate. I have his franchise. Just like Horus, just like Meerkat. I guess, in a roundabout way, that made the boy my responsibility-"

The waitress arrived. "Can I take your orders?" Rachael panicked and returned her menu to eye level.

"We'll both have the chowder. And a green salad," Maggie ordered. The waitress wrote something on a notebook and stepped away from the table.

"Thank you," Rachael smiled. Then realized, "No more vegan?"

"No. It's not really practical out here on the Raft."

"No, of course not..." Still, Rachael was surprised.

"Anyway," Maggie got back on track. "That's how everyone else saw it: the boy was my responsibility. When those dryfoot kidnappers came out to the Raft and took the boy, they asked for fifteen million in ransom. Suddenly, everyone turned to me for answers. That's what I get for pretending to be a figure of authority out here. What did I know about negotiating with kidnappers? I can't even bribe a county official correctly, what would happen if I make a mistake with the Shane boy? He could get hurt. These were some serious characters. Real criminals. Not comic opera pot dealers like Horus. They were threatening to cut the boy's finger off and send it to his mother. Bastards."

"Oh my God."

"Anyway, there was no one else, we couldn't turn to the dryfoot cops for help. The kidnappers correctly reasoned that the mainland authorities would ignore the kidnapping as long as it stayed aboard the Raft. If we went crying to them, it'd have given them every excuse they needed to come aboard the Raft and start executing some law and order. We'd be asking for their protection. Demanding it. The cops just sat and waited – waited for the invitation. But no one aboard the Raft wanted the police involved. Not the boy's father or mother, or me, and especially not the kidnappers. No that just left me. Maggie Straight the Magistrate.

"So, I tried to convince the father to pay the kidnappers, it seemed like the easiest way to get the boy back. But he couldn't, he just didn't have the money. He'd been rich on land, but all his assents had all been frozen by the IRS. He'd escaped to the Raft with what liquid cash he had, and that was nothing like fifteen million. Of course, the kidnappers didn't know this, no one did. And when word got out I just wanted to pay the kidnappers off, all hell broke loose. Nobody wanted to see the Raft become a prime target for each and every two-bit scumbag looking to make a quick buck. But a kid's life was at stake. I really didn't care how it looked, I just wanted to get the boy back."

"So what did you do?" Rachael leaned forward on the edge of her seat.

Maggie shrugged. "In the end, I had to go full Rambo."

"What?" Rachael laughed. "Rambo?"

"Yeah, the clock was ticking, the deadline was closing in. I knew these three guys, here on the Raft, with military experience. Former Marines. We planned it out. We swam in under the cover of darkness, with SCUBA gear, up to the kidnappers' boat. We had Tasers and shotguns loaded with beanbags, all wrapped up in plastic bags."

"You're kidding..." Rachael was listening in slack-jawed amazement.

"I wish I was, I was so scared my hands wouldn't stop shaking. I mean, before that day I'd never even held a gun, and there I was, part of a full-on Seal Team 5 attack."

The chowder and salads came. Pepper was ground from an oversized grinder and more ice water was fetched.

"Then what happened?" Rachael prodded once the waitress had departed.

Maggie tasted the chowder and found it delicious. "So we swam up to the quiet ship. The kidnappers appeared to be dozing. Just one guard at the stern. We shimmied up the mooring lines and ripped open those plastic bags full of our weapons. I caught the guard with a Taser and he took a header into the Sound. We caught the rest of the mob napping. It was over in less than ten seconds. It still makes me shake to think about it." Maggie held up a hand and it was visibly trembling. "We radioed for a jet ski, all ready and waiting, and it swooped in to pick up the boy. Fifteen minutes later, he was back in his mother's arms, safe. We tied up and deposited the kidnapping sons of bitches at the foot of the Kingston ferry dock, just in time for the morning commute."

"Oh my God..." Rachael gasped in surprise, raising a hand to cover her mouth.

"Their boat we kept. And no dryfoots have ever returned. There's one good thing to be said about solving your problems with violence: no one ever tries to pick on you twice."

"I mean - was anyone hurt? The boy?"

"No, it all went smoothly." Maggie dug into her salad. "But the precedent was set. From that day forward, Magistrates weren't simply about conflict resolution anymore, but active protection."

"Then you _are_ some sort of a policeman," Rachael smiled. "I knew it."

"Policewoman... den mother, therapist, what have you. And it's all voluntary. A paid service. Don't like your cop, go find another one. But you take the good with the bad. In exchange for my protection, you also voluntarily submit to my authority."

"And that's why you can arrest Horus? I mean, if you can find him."

"Exactly."

"This place is insane," Rachael shook her head. She tried the chowder. It _was_ delicious.

"It's not like the mainland, that's for sure. No cops, no bureaucrats, no rules."

"You'll forgive me if I stick with the Seattle P.D. and 911."

"I will. I think most people would agree."

"It just all seems..." Rachael picked her words, she knew all too well how easy it was to pick a fight with Maggie. "So flimsy. I mean, I understand that you're good at what you do, that you saved that boy, but what about the Magistrates that aren't..."

"Quite so honest?" Maggie finished Rachael's sentence.

"Yes!" Rachael gestured at Maggie with her fork. She was relieved that Maggie had said it and not her.

"It's the same here on the Raft as it is on the dryland. Over there," Maggie pointed to the skyline of the city. "What do you do with a dirty cop?"

"Expose him, fire him, hopefully arrest him," Rachael replied.

"Yes, but how long does that take? How often does a department like the Seattle P.D. actually dismiss an officer? And do you think each and every officer on the force is squeaky clean? It can take years for someone like you to uncover wrongdoing, dutifully report it and get any sort of substantive action. Here on the Raft, if you've got a bad Magistrate, you simply fire them yourself."

"But if you're less than honest yourself... What stops a criminal like Chemical there from colluding with his Magistrate to avoid arrest?"

"Even the crooks need good Magistrates," Maggie replied. She'd finished her chowder. "They're as often the victims of crime as they are the perpetrators. Sure, they might curse the day they hired a Magistrate when that Magistrate boards their junk to come arrest them, but by and large, over any sort of period of time, the criminals need as good a Magistrate as they can afford. If Chemical back there could pay his bills, I'd still own his franchise. We didn't part ways because I failed to turn a blind eye to his crimes. No, inevitability, all a poor Magistrate gets out here on the Raft is empty pockets. And the need to look for a different line of work."

Rachael let it go. She'd had these sorts of conversations with Maggie a thousand times. She knew there was no convincing her, changing her perception. But today everything was different, Rachael didn't need to argue politics. Regardless of how righteous and correct Maggie might think the Raft to be, there were realities that needed to be addressed.

"You know it's all over, don't you?" Rachael said after the food was finished.

"What's that?" Maggie was distracted, looking off at the horizon.

"The Raft. I mean, no matter what you discover, if you catch Horus or not. The death of Meerkat is all that the authorities are going to tolerate. When they come, and they will come, they won't be coming out here to investigate a murder, or its links to Senators or Congressmen or whomever. They're coming out here to sink the Raft. Once and for all."

"I know," was all Maggie said, still looking at the skyline of the city.

"Then..." Rachael bit her bottom lip. "Come home. Get while the getting is good. Sail back to Alki with me and leave your boat. Hang the tax man."

"This is my home, Rachael."

"I know, but..." Rachael wanted to scream. Stand up and shake Maggie and slap some sense into her. "Staying here, waiting for the inevitable will only mean jail. Or worse. Does everyone on the Raft carry a gun like you?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then damn it, Maggie!" Rachael said, drawing glances from the other tables. "There's going to be shooting. People are going to get hurt. People are going to _die_. Maggie, for Christ's sake, see some sense."

"You're right. I should never have let you come out here. You should go home, go back to your child."

"Maggie!" Rachael tried to control herself. She pulled back, lowering her voice, trying another tactic. "I mean, this place is amazing. Now I understand. I'm so glad that I got to see it. I understand why you love it so much. But it's over, Maggie. Over. Even you have to admit it, that even at its best, the Raft was running on borrowed time. You can't avoid the long arm of the law forever."

"Rachael, it's..." Maggie started then stopped.

"Maggie, I'm scared. I'm afraid that you're going to get hurt and I... I love you. You have to come back to dryland now. Before it's too late."

There, she'd said it. It had to be said. And there it was, out in the open, sitting on the table between them.

Maggie turned her attention back to the skyline of city.

Chapter 9

"Maggie! Maggie!" A thick, Eastern European accent called the length of the _Geoduck's_ rear deck. Maggie, shocked out of her torpor, was happy to have something to distract her from Rachael. She stood as a stout woman came charging joyfully across the deck of bistro tables. "Maggie! My petrushka!"

"Piroshki," Maggie smiled as they embraced. It was anbear hug that lifted Maggie clean up off the deck. The woman then took Maggie's face between her two thick, slab-like hands and planted a kiss square on Maggie's lips.

"Petrushka!"

"Rachael," Maggie turned, apparently unfazed by the display of affection. "This is Piroshki, the owner of the _Geoduck_. Piroshki, this is my old friend from the dryland, Rachael."

"Little petrushka!" the woman cried out, her mass quickly eclipsing Rachael. Before Rachael could react, her face was also squeezed between two massive hands, and a wet, maternal kiss planned full on the mouth.

"Nice to meet you," Rachael said in shock, as the two hands were withdrawn.

"Ah, the chowder today..." Piroshki gestured at table with the used dishes. She seemed displeased.

"No, it was delicious," Maggie assured.

"Yes, yes..." Rachael stammered to add.

"Ah, too kind. My Maggie..." Piroshki slapped Maggie's cheek, then turned to directly address Rachael. "Maggie, she take good care of old Piroshki. She take good care of whole Raft. My petrushka..." She was still holding Maggie by the cheek. Her tone suddenly turned serious. "I hear news. News of Meerkat. No good, no good at all." She shook her head in disgust.

"News travels fast," Rachael remarked.

"You have no idea," Maggie affirmed.

Piroshki brightened again. "But Maggie, she solve. She great hero. You know?" Piroshki nodded at Rachael.

"Yes, I just learned."

"She find out what happen to Meerkat, yes?" She looked expectantly into Maggie's eyes. "Poor little petrushka..."

"Don't worry, that is why we're here." Maggie took Piroshki's palm away from her face, held it affectionately, and slid back into her seat. "We heard word that Meerkat was here last night with Horus."

"Ah!" Piroshki threw up her hands. The shock caused Rachael to almost jump out of her seat. "No good Horus! You find Horus, no?"

"Yes, but -"

"But Meerkat here, dancing in disco last night, yes, but Horus, no. She dancing late... until grandson Kalashnikov turn music off. No more dancing. Tell girls to go home! Too late."

"Girls?"

"Yes," Piroshki said with unmovable certitude. "Meerkat dancing with Tea Queen. No Horus!"

"Tea Queen?" Maggie seemed surprised. "Are you sure?"

"Sure? Sure? Maggie, my sweet Maggie, you think I not know all my little petrushkas?"

"No, no, of course. And they left together? Just the two of them?"

"Yes. In little dinghy. No one else."

"Thank you, Piroshki," Maggie said, the wheels in her head visibly turning. "Can we get our check?"

"Ha! Check!" Piroshki laughed, turning to Rachael. "Maggie think her money good here. Ha!"

"Then thank you," Rachael smiled.

Piroshki gave Rachael an affectionate slap on the cheek, a slap hard enough to knock out a filling. "Little petrushka. So lovely."

And the heavy woman charged off across the deck with the same intensity she'd shown charging towards Rachael and Maggie's table.

"Who's Tea Queen?" Rachael asked when they were alone. She knew she should have returned to the topic of leaving the Raft, but her curiosity got the better of her.

"A witness? A suspect?" Maggie shrugged.

"I mean what's her connection to Meerkat?"

"Oh, they're good friends. Best friends, once, before Tea got married, had a baby."

"She's obviously the last person to see Meerkat alive."

"Mmm..." Maggie mused. "Had enough to eat?" she asked.

"Sure. We're going to talk to Tea Queen?"

"We are," Maggie replied, wiping her mouth with her napkin and dropping it on the table. Rachael grabbed her coat.

#

The Raft was making preparations to set sail.

On every vessel, as Maggie and Rachael made their way back to the _Soft Cell_ , Rafters were busily preparing their boats to cast off. Decks were being cleared, equipment stowed, sails were being checked and mended.

Back aboard the _Soft Cell_ , Maggie freed their mooring lines from the greater mass of the Raft that encircled the _Kalakala_ and motored off through the archipelagos of bobbing craft in the surrounding water. Everywhere there was evidence of industrious preparation, the feeling that a great migration was about to begin.

Progressively, as they drifted away from the Raft, the clutter of vessels began to thin around them. Soon, they were clear and free in the open water of the Sound. As noon approached, the warmth of the day was beginning. Maggie busied herself with the sails, readying them to catch the cool southerly breeze. Rachael sunned herself at the bow, her eyes hidden behind her dark sunglasses. She'd found her purse, with her sunglasses and phone, and brought both up to the prow of the _Soft Cell_.

It was a hard conversation with Peter.

Telling him she would be late, telling him it was his responsibility to pick up Margaret at daycare. The call was nothing new, work often kept Rachael late at the office. She knew she couldn't lie to him, but this time it was different. Rachael was, perhaps, only two or three miles from home, but she felt like she was on another planet. The story of Meerkat's death would have run in the morning edition, and Peter always read the _Times_ with breakfast, keeping a keen eye out for Rachael's handiwork. But Peter was no fool, he'd have put two and two together the second he read the headline. And by now he'd be at the station, possibly with Meerkat's case on his desk. So he gave no indication of shock when Rachael explained where she was. He was silent. Concerned, perhaps. Rachael didn't elaborate. He asked when she'd be home.

"Tonight... tomorrow... I don't know," Rachael replied.

"And you're safe?" he added.

"Yes, I'm with Maggie... she's... she's a hard-ass."

"Maggie? You never mentioned _that_ before."

"Well, she didn't used to be. I mean, not when I knew her... But already today she's had a knock-down, drag-out knife fight with a teenage thug – and come off the better of it – and it's not even noon."

Peter laughed. "Do I need to worry? Is she going to break my nose when I meet her?"

"I'd be very careful if I were you," Rachael laughed, relieved. Peter was taking it well.

Peter let his chuckle taper off into silence. Then, "The murder's made the TV News. The Chief was on, he seemed to imply that the death was a Federal issue – a maritime case."

"Shit," Rachael punctuated.

"Not good news?"

It wasn't. "No."

"They worried out there? The Rafters?"

"Word has only just started to spread. Maggie's trying to stay ahead of the rumor mill. Find the murderer before you guys have a chance to get involved. But her number one suspect jumped off his boat and swam to shore. You guys picked up any Rafters this morning? Any barefooted drifters come through holding?"

"I don't think so, but it's early." Peter changed topics. "So, exactly how does this all work? On the Raft? Is Maggie some sort of cop?"

"No, she tried to explain, but it barely makes any sense. Everything out here is crazy. They're a law unto themselves. Everything is ass-backwards. However any of this turns out, I'm gonna have one great story to write when I get back."

"If there's any Raft left to write about..."

"Yeah, this whole situation has Waco written all over it," Rachael mused.

"And you want to be _inside_ the compound?"

"Look, I know it's complicated... Maggie and you and me... but I can't just leave her out here. I known it's her own fault, but..."

"I know, you don't have to explain."

"But -"

"Really."

Ugh. He always did that. Said the right thing at the right time. It hit Rachael right in the chest, made her feel all balled up inside. God, she loved him so much...

"Thank you. Look, the whole Raft is sailing north tomorrow for some festival. It'll all be over, one way or another, by then. But I'll try and be home for dinner. Really try."

"Good. Be safe."

"I will. Give my love to Margaret. Don't forget she has dance at 3 o'clock."

"I'll remember. I love you."

"I love you, too."

Rachael hung up the phone.

"Everyone okay at home?" Maggie spoke up from the cockpit.

"Yes, surprisingly, yes." Rachael looked at the phone in surprise.

"Then you're not in trouble?"

"No, not yet." Rachael pulled herself to her feet and walked barefooted back to the cockpit. She found her purse and returned her phone to it.

"You found yourself a nice guy." Maggie said, not looking away from the helm.

"I told you: don't start with me."

"I'm not starting anything. Just saying. I can speak, this is my boat."

"Yeah, he's a nice guy. A cop. Seattle."

"A cop?" Maggie shot Rachael a glance. "Curiouser and curiouser."

"Would it make you happy if I just jumped overboard and swam home?" Rachael said sarcastically.

"Come on, I don't mean anything."

"You're being horrible."

"Sorry." Maggie returned her eyes to the bow. They sailed on in silence, the sun warm and the sails filled with the southerly breeze. The skyline of the city was closing.

"Where are we going?" Rachael asked, realizing their course was taking them directly away from the Raft.

"We're looking for Tea Queen, remember?"

"Yes, but you're heading for Seattle."

"Tea Queen is a scarecrow."

Rachael deflated. More lingo. "Scarecrow?"

"A Rafter with a day job... well, a dryfoot day job. She designs websites, or databases, or something with computers. I forget, anyway she needs WiFi to do her work, that means she can't stray too far from the towers of the big city. Not during the week. Noon on a Thursday, she'll be in line-of-sight to downtown. You can count on it."

"Rafters hold down real jobs... Is that legal?"

"No, of course not. Strictly under the table. Or at least as I understand it. But Gandalf has been talking about going above board with the whole deal, strictly legitimate. Did you see those three guys back there playing golf with the Gray Beards?"

"Yes, Tiger Print said they were from Arrowsoft."

"I bet that perked up your ears?"

"It certainly did."

"Well, Gandalf is trying to get them to open an office out here on the Raft."

"How would that work?"

"No more telecommuting for the scarecrows. No more paying them under the table in greenbacks. A lot of Rafters used to work in the tech sector. There's a lot of talent. But many Rafters refuse to take dollars on principle. Anything backed by the US Government. They prefer their own money."

"Raft money? What do you use instead of dollars? Seashells? Polished rocks? Sharpened bits of wood?" Rachael smirked.

Maggie smiled back. "Sum," she simply replied.

Rachael resisted the urge to parrot back the word. She was starting to feel like a tourist who'd forgotten her translating dictionary. "And this has something to do with this Exchange you mentioned before? The wizard's mystery room full of gold?"

Maggie nodded. "Full marks to the pretty girl who's been paying attention."

"Do I dare ask you to explain it?"

Maggie chuckled. "The Exchange? It's a website really, not much more. Gandalf started it back in the earliest days of the Raft, a barter exchange – you know, a message board – where people could exchange labor for goods. They were all as broke as Frenchmen back then, and no one wanted to keep cash on hand lest the tax man came along and take it.

"So the Raft ran a barter economy back then. Of course, as the Raft grew, it became obvious that barter wouldn't scale, even with the help of technology. A barter exchange was great, but what the Raft needed was something that served as a currency. Gandalf got into the banking business quite by accident: he let users of the Exchange bank hours in the system. Man-hours, time worked. If you wanted to barter something with someone, but weren't interested in what they had to barter with, you could take a promissory note on their future labor. 'For this galley table, I owe you six hours of engine repair.' That sort of thing.

"Well, right there you got a unit of exchange. Money. And before you know it, the whole Raft is thinking about the value of things in terms of the man-hours invested into the product. 'That meal took an hour to cook, so I'll charge you one hour for it.' 'This boat took twelve men three months to build, therefore it's worth six thousand hours.' It just grew from there."

"Your money is... _time_?"

"The value of things is the time invested into their construction, yes. I know, it makes us all sound like communists, but it works. Think about it, what other currency is simultaneously inflation and deflation resistant? You can't increase or decrease the length of an hour, and everyone has in their gut an instinct of its apparent worth. And the economy grows at exactly the rate people put labor into it, and shrinks at exactly the rate that people take work out of it. The Raft's economy grows and shrinks, but the value of a man-hour doesn't. It's the perfect store of value."

"You've been reading Von Mises, again." Rachael smiled.

"I think the whole Raft has. We call it Sum. We'd call it money... but then, you know, the tax man would want his share. But it's money by another name. Better than money in many ways."

"And the Wizard's horde of treasure?"

"Gandalf's insurance policy."

"Insurance?"

"Yes, for the Exchange. To encourage people to accept Sum as currency. See, Sum _isn't_ anything tangible. No more than the US Dollar is. Both are total fiat currencies. They're worth something because people believe they are. But the dollar is backed by the might and grandeur of the US government. And its use of its police powers to extract taxes. If there was ever a run on the dollar... well, people understand that there's something there backing it: the tax base of the American people. The Exchange has no tax base, no user fees, no actual value to back its promissory notes should there be a run on the bank. So, with what greenbacks Gandalf had, he bought gold. Gold ingots, gold jewelry, gold plates, gold teeth – anything gold. And with that he backed his currency. Rumor has it all hidden away in the bowels of the _Kalakala_ – in a secret treasure room – filled to the brim with gold. Should the value of Sum collapse, Gandalf can throw open his vault doors and prop up the currency. Thereby saving the Raft."

"That isn't true, is it?" Rachael laughed.

"No, I doubt it, but the legend has done the trick. Everyone trusts Sum. Everyone on the Raft. And scarecrows like Tea Queen willingly trade their hard earned greenbacks for the mythical existence of the magic room full of treasure."

"You're all insane," the realization hit Rachael. "Certifiably insane."

"Perhaps," Maggie winked.

Chapter 10

"I figured I'd be seeing you today sooner or later," Tea Queen said, a baby cradled on her left hip. She was standing in the companionway of her small sailboat, the _Strange Dream_ , watching Maggie secure their two crafts together. "Cup of tea?" she asked.

"Please," Maggie replied, stepping across from the deck of the _Soft Cell_ to the deck of the _Strange Dream_. Tea Queen and the baby vanished down into the companionway. Maggie, with Rachael in tow, circled around the small craft's deck and down its short cabin ladder.

The cramped cabin below was dominated by the baby's crib. In fact, it consumed the entirety of floor space of the tiny twenty-foot yacht. Tea Queen deposited the fussing baby into the large, high-railed structure and leaned over it to start a kettle of water on the galley stove. Beyond the crib, on the boat's fore bunk, sat a young bearded man working at a laptop. He raised his head as Maggie and Rachael shoehorned themselves into what free space there was below decks.

"Rocket," Maggie nodded at the young man. Like Tea Queen, Rocket had an unwashed, hippie air about him. His blond hair was a nest of messy, half-matted dreadlocks, his shirtless chest hidden behind a sizable collection of necklaces.

"You know Tea ain't had nothing to do with any of it?" Rocket said with a bleary-eyed quality to his voice. "Right?"

"And what would 'it' be?" Maggie replied, leaning herself up against the companionway's steps.

"Meerkat." Rocket poked a finger at his laptop's screen. "It's already hit the Exchange. And here you are, not twenty minutes later... Tea didn't have nothing to do with any of it – whatever happened. Last Tea saw Meerkat last night, she was okay..."

"I just came to talk," Maggie held up a calming hand. "I'm not here to accuse anybody."

"Good, 'cause -"

"I came to talk to Tea Queen," Maggie interrupted. "Unless you were aboard the _Geoduck_ last night, too?"

"Nah," Rocket replied after a pause.

"How's Firecracker?" Maggie asked Tea Queen, leaning forward and holding out a finger to the baby. "You're getting big, yes you are..." she said to the child in baby babble.

"Healthy and sleeping nights," Tea Queen replied, not looking away from the galley stove. "All hands and grabbing things, though, so I can't take my eye off the stove. But then you know what they say about watched pots..."

"You were out last night?" Maggie got to the point.

"I was," Tea Queen said forthrightly. "With Meerkat, on the _Geoduck_ , as you already know, or else you wouldn't be here – and before you ask, she was alive and well when she dropped me off here. Last I saw of her, she was motoring off in her dinghy, heading home to the _Straight Dope_. It was late, and I'd been drinking, sure, but Meerkat was stone-cold sober. It weren't no sailing accident, I can tell you that."

The baby, Firecracker, had grabbed Maggie's finger and they were playing tug-of-war. The kettle started boiling, Tea Queen busied herself with the pot.

"You were celebrating?" Maggie asked, almost absentmindedly.

"No, no celebration. A goodbye party."

"A what?" Maggie looked up in surprise.

"Meerkat was putting her boots on. Though she hadn't told anyone but me."

"Meerkat was leaving the Raft?" Rachael asked. "Why?"

Tea Queen poured the boiling water into the teapot and covered it with a cozy to steep. She turned away from the galley and looked at Maggie and Rachael for the first time. "You know how we used to be..." Tea Queen began, almost apologetically.

"Sure," Maggie nodded.

But Rachael didn't. Tea Queen seemed to feel a need to explain. "We were wild, all of us." She cocked a thumb at Rocket. "But we cleaned up our act when Firecracker came along. You have to, you know, when it's not just you anymore. At some point you learn there are things more important than yourself..."

"Yes," Rachael agreed.

"But it wasn't so easy for Meerkat, you understand? Living with Horus... in his line of work, with the shit around you all the time... it was getting bad. You know, you don't see it until you clean yourself up, just how bad everyone else has gotten. It's like you suddenly get your sense of smell back and realize how bad the whole world stinks. And Meerkat was starting to reek, if you know want I mean. And I think no one knew it better than Meerkat herself.

"So, she got it in her head to get clean. But she knew she wasn't gonna do it out here on the Raft... with no resources and living with Horus, almost right on top of each other. She put her boots on, sneaked ashore. Checked herself into one of them places – rehab. Two-week program. I don't know if Horus even realized she was gone."

"When was this?" Maggie asked.

"Six months ago? Maybe. Right after Firecracker was born," Rocket interjected.

"And Horus was okay with it?"

"Must have been," Tea Queen shrugged. "Once Meerkat got back, once she got clean, she had outpatient visits. Horus used to sneak her ashore to attend them. Well, had Chemical Ali do it when he was making deliveries."

Maggie gave Rachael a knowing look.

"But Meerkat had finally had enough? She was putting her boots back on permanently?"

"That's what she told me." Tea Queen suddenly remembered her pot and turned to the galley. She poured out the tea into four small, plastic cups and passed them out to everyone present. A little tea, she poured into a sippy cup, along with a large helping of milk, and handed it to Firecracker. "Called me up out of the blue and told me she had finally cleaned up all the mess she'd left onshore. She was free to return home, get off the Raft. And with her life back together, she was going to take the chance. So we rowed for the _Geoduck_ and made a night of it. I guess I really did the celebrating for both of us."

"And nothing happened aboard the _Geoduck_? No arguments, no fights?"

"Nope, just drinking and dancing."

"Meerkat dance with anyone in particular?" Rachael asked.

"No, we just danced together," Tea Queen answered over the rim of her tea cup. "You know how girls are."

Rachael blushed.

"And she brought you back here? At what? Three?"

"Something like that."

"Rocket?" Maggie looked over at Tea Queen's scruffy husband.

"Yeah, she woke me and I remember looking at the clock. Maybe 2:45."

"And she just motored off, back towards the _Straight Dope_? Where was it moored? Where were you moored? Here?"

"No, we were both at the rim of the main Raft, circling the _Kalakala._ Rocket moved us here into WiFi range this morning while Firecracker and I were sleeping."

Maggie listened, nodded, and sipped her tea.

For a long moment, the cabin was filled only with the sound of Rocket tapping away at his laptop and Firecracker sucking at her bottle.

"One more thing," Maggie asked, breaking the silence. "Was Meerkat... pregnant?"

"What?" Tea Queen recoiled in surprise. "What, no. I mean, she'd have said. No. Why?"

"We found tests... aboard the _Straight Dope_."

"No, she was..." Tea Queen started and then trailed off. "No, she would have told me," she said flatly.

"Thank you for the tea," Maggie handed her cup back to Tea Queen. Rachael realized that was the cue to leave, and quickly gulped down the last of her cup.

"Thank you," Rachael also passed back her cup.

"Are you going ashore?" Tea Queen asked as Maggie turned to climb the companionway stairs. "After Horus?"

"Sorry?" Maggie turned back.

"The Exchange says that Horus put his boots on. Are you going after him? Bringing him back?"

"I-I hadn't thought about it," Maggie answered honestly.

"Bring him back and let the Raft take care of him, Maggie," Tea Queen said sternly, still holding the two tea cups in her hands. "Don't let them dryfoots get him. Let the Raft take care of this. Even if Meerkat was going ashore, she was still one of ours. Don't let them dryfoots punish Horus for a crime that happened aboard the Raft."

"I won't," Maggie assured. "Thanks again," she said and pulled herself up and out of the companionway.

Chapter 11

With the _Soft Cell_ under sail once again, moving away from the _Strange Dream_ , Maggie and Rachael sat in silence. The sails snapped in the breeze and Maggie steered towards open water, absentmindedly lost in her own thoughts.

Slowly, it occurred to Rachael that she had to pee.

All the ice water aboard the _Geoduck_ and then a cup of tea with the Tea Queen, and Rachael could feel nature calling. As Maggie sat at the helm, musing, Rachael slipped down through the companionway of the _Soft Cell_ , down the set of steps into the cabin below.

Maggie's living quarters were far more spacious than the cabin shared by Rocket, Tea Queen and Firecracker. Maggie's boat, at twice the length, had far more than twice the space below decks. The main cabin was discernibly divided into separate areas for the galley and salon. A comfortable couch ran the length of the room starboard, and a galley table sat to the port. Through a pair of folding doors, Rachael could see the unmade fore bunk. To starboard, just behind the companionway, there was an unused aft bunk.

The cabin was cozy, homey. Rachael was instantly hit with a sense of the familiar. She recognized some of the knickknacks here and there as Maggie's, items forever stuck in Rachael's memory from their former life together. Almost instantly, Rachael felt comfortable moving about below the decks of the _Soft Cell_. It was almost like stepping back in time, back to the house they'd shared so many years ago. The sent of Maggie's perfume, the hideous painting of a cowboy on a bronco that Maggie insisted constituted art. It was all there. Rachael took a moment to let it all sink in, resisting the urge to curl up on the long couch and turn on the TV.

Then her bladder reminded her why she'd stepped below.

Towards the bow, just before the fore bunk, was the toilet. Rachael pulled aside the concertina door. It took Rachael a few moments to fathom what she was looking at.

"Maggie!" Rachael called out, yelling back towards the opening up to the cockpit.

"Rachael?" Maggie's voice came back as she squatted down to peer through the companionway.

"I know I shouldn't have to ask this, but..." Rachael glanced again at the device that sat where the toilet should have been. "How do you go to the bathroom?"

Maggie laughed from above deck.

#

"It's a composting toilet," Maggie was explaining a few minutes later, the two of them squashed together in the tiny compartment. There was a latch, then a lid, then a familiar looking seat, bowl and cistern. Once Maggie had shown Rachael how to open the contraption, Rachael needed no more instructions, but Maggie kept on explaining. "You see, on the Raft, we literally shit where we eat. With fish being our only significant source of protein, water quality is no laughing matter out here. So many of us invested in one of these." Maggie tapped the toilet. It looked something like an industrial coffee machine crossed with a deck chair. "It's sort of a toilet and septic tank in one. Poop and pee in, clean water out."

Maggie seemed rather proud of the device.

"Okay," Rachael said with a smile.

"Yes," Maggie nodded.

"Okay," Rachael said again, more forcefully.

"Okay," Maggie nodded again.

"I get it. Composting toilet. Thanks."

"Oh," Maggie got the hint. She squeezed back out of the concertina door and closed it behind her.

Rachael unbuckled her belt and tentatively lowered herself down onto the coffee machine/deck chair.

"So, it seems like we wasted a morning and came full circle," Rachael said through the slatted door. "The more we learn, the more things point back to Horus."

"It's interesting," Maggie said from out in the main cabin. "How Chemical's and Tea Queen's stories compare."

"You said that Chemical's story was patently ridiculous. Bullshit, was your choice of words, if I remember."

"Oh, most certainly. Tea Queen's story is so much more plausible. But what interests me is not where the stories differ, but where they intersect. Both Chemical and Tea Queen said Meerkat was sneaking back to shore on a regular basis. Why, they disagreed on, but they both mentioned the fact. And the idea that Meerkat was doing so with Horus's blessing, even his active assistance."

"So?" Rachael stood up and adjusted her clothing. Now, exactly how to flush a composting toilet...

"So, what was she doing onshore? Blackmailing a US Senator or attending AA? Both seem rather fantastic..."

"You think it was something else?" Rachael found a handle that, if she was the designer, would have flushed the toilet. She pushed it and the lid slapped closed. There was a gurgling sound, not a flush. Rachael dithered.

"Meerkat was obviously lying to Horus or Tea Queen. Why not both? No, I think you're right. We've spent the morning and ended right back where we started."

"Perhaps we should do what Tea Queen suggested." Rachael washed her hands and opened the door. "Head to dryland and look for Horus."

"Mmm..." Maggie grunted.

"Or simply head for dryland. You know, every hour we spend out here, it only grows more dangerous."

"I can't just walk away from my responsibilities, Rachael. Meerkat was mine to take care of."

Rachael huffed. "I know, and I'm not suggesting you shirk your responsibilities. But you know if the Rafters and the Coast Guard start trading shots, no one is going to remember Meerkat or care what happened to her. There just isn't enough time to investigate this properly."

"There's no sign of the Coast Guard yet."

"No, but look: you have me, that's a resource most people don't have. The press can keep something like Meerkat's death in the public eye. Married to a homicide detective, award-winning investigative journalist, I have the resources to make sure this whole affair doesn't get dropped. From the safety of shore, we could -"

"What does any dryfoot care about one dead Rafter?" an irritated Maggie interjected. Rachael bit her lip. "After this all blows over. there isn't a soul onshore who's going to think anything other than that each and every Rafter got exactly what they deserved. Meerkat, me, if you're foolish enough to still be here, you. Gone, that's all anyone on dryland wants from the Raft: for it to vanish. And whatever has to happen, how many Rafters have to wash up on the shores of the Puget Sound, they just want the job done."

"Maggie," Rachael tried to rest a comforting hand on Maggie's shoulder, but before Rachael could touch Maggie, Maggie was on her feet climbing back up to the cockpit.

"If there was only more time," Maggie said as she disappeared through the companionway. "But we're almost out of it," her voice came from above deck.

"There's time," Rachael assured, rubbing her temples. She was making no progress. If it was possible, Rachael's presence had only doubled Maggie's resolve to stay on the Raft. Bringing up ancient history, stirring up emotions, Rachael was making a terrible mess of everything. She had to focus, appeal to Maggie's logic. Emotions were just sending Maggie deeper into the well-defended cocoon Maggie had build for herself aboard the _Soft Cell_. And the further Maggie pushed away from Rachael, the more danger she was getting herself into.

Rachael took a deep breath.

"No," Maggie voice came again, urgently from above. "I mean _we're out of time_."

"What?" Rachael hopped up the steps and emerged into the daylight. She followed Maggie's stare towards the skyline of the city. There at the dock line, red and blue lights were flashing. "Is that -?"

"Looks like they've resolved their jurisdictional disputes," Maggie said coldly.

Rachael looked back over her shoulder at the silhouette of the _Kalakala_ in the distance, and its surrounding protective island of smaller craft.

"We still have a head start. Under full sail, we might just make it back to the _Kalakala_ before the Coast Guard," Rachael said.

"Or we could turn hard to port." Maggie looked to the south, towards the outcrop of land that was Alki. "Back to beach where I picked you up."

"You know that's the smart money, Maggie," Rachael said, hoping against hope. "No one would fault you."

"No," Maggie looked to the south for a long minute, shielding her eyes against the sun. "They probably wouldn't."

Then Maggie moved into action, tightening lines and adjusting winches. Very quickly, the _Soft Cell_ was heeling against the firm southern breeze with Maggie at the helm, a resolute look of grimness on her face.

Chapter 12

If their brisk jaunt through the Agate Pass had taught Rachael that five years aboard the Raft had made Maggie a competent sailor, their hell-bent race back towards the _Kalakala_ proved her skill unequivocally.

But the masterful sailing was all in vain. A good breeze and a skilled hand at the tiller were no match for the twin diesels of a Coast Guard Motor Lifeboat.

The _Soft Cell_ was perhaps a thousand yards out from the _Kalakala_ as the pair of 47-foot longboats cut past, buffeting Maggie and Rachael in their wakes.

Before the prows of the approaching authorities, the main body of the Raft, encircling the ferry, began to disintegrate. Like cockroaches at the switching on of a light, the hodgepodge collection of vessels began to scatter, seeking shelter in the wooded bays and inlet of the nearby Island. Only Maggie and the _Soft Cell_ were hurtling towards the impending confrontation. Only Maggie and Rachael.

Rachael had to smile, though she quickly swallowed any sign of her excitement the moment Maggie glanced in her direction. _This_ was journalism, she said to herself. If nothing else, Rachael knew she was about to find herself right at the epicenter of a story. It was thrilling, in an unwise, devil-may-care sort of way. Almost every part of Rachael knew she should be forcing Maggie's hand, making her turn about and head for the safety of dryland. But some small part of Rachael was relishing in the chance to do some actual journalism.

So much of her days were spent behind a desk. There was little budget nowadays to do any sort of fieldwork at the paper – any kind of investigative reporting. Publishing a newspaper had become little more than typesetting information that came across the wire, a relic left over from a bygone age, servicing a community too indifferent to setup an RSS feeds.

Rachael had grown up admiring _real_ journalists. Though perhaps more the television news variety than the printed reporter. They had been her inspiration to enter into journalism.

Rachael's earliest memories were of being glued to the 24-hour news channels, the likes of Christiane Amanpour reporting from some war-torn corner of the globe in Prada and a flack jacket. The mix of smoldering sexuality and danger had always thrilled Rachael. She'd imagined herself one day in the thick of some revolutionary turmoil, hurriedly delivering some insightful, biting monologue to a shaky handheld camera as bullets cracked against stucco walls behind her and soldiers screamed in pain.

The reality of journalism, however, turned out to be significantly less exotic. In the years after Rachael had graduated university, there were no more wars left for her to cover, no combat units in which to be embedded. America's foreign reach, once so limitless, had long since receded to the coastline of North America. Military budget had been cut and a weary population had put an end to the government's foreign adventures. The United States, even by the most generous patriotic estimations, was no longer a world player.

The golden age of the country, and by extension, its media had passed before Rachael had even seen her first paycheck. Journalism for Rachael was about budget negotiations and rationing committees, not evil dictators and populist rebellions.

But aboard the _Soft Cell_ with Maggie, racing against the roaring motors of the Coast Guard boats, Rachael could sense an echo of those bygone years and the journalism she remembered from her youth. Here was a real conflict about to unfold. But instead of CNN and a news crew, it would be Rachael in the thick of the fighting. What Rachael expected to happen – she didn't even dare to guess. After all, the whole point of her being aboard the _Soft Cell_ was to keep Maggie safe... but the chance to witness the government and the Rafters coming to blows... now that would be journalism, Rachael thought.

Despite coming last in the race, the _Soft Cell_ made respectable time across the open Puget Sound, returning to the _Kalakala_. But by the time Maggie began to furl her sails, the ferry's protective shell of small craft had completely evaporated and the two Coast Guard Motor Lifeboats were moored directly off the rear car deck. Small, black, commando-like dinghies were tied to the grab rail of the ferry. It was apparent that the Coast Guard was already on board.

It seemed to take an eternity to get Maggie's small motorboat into the water. The winches whirred as Maggie lowered it from its perch at the stern of the _Soft Cell_. The outboard motor had to be attached next as the little dinghy bounced in the water. Eventually, after what felt like an hour, Rachael and Maggie were in the small craft and puttering the short distance to the open rear car deck of the _Kalakala_.

As Rachael had both feared and anticipated, all hell had broken loose aboard the ferry.

Maggie and Rachael climbed up onto the car deck to a cacophony of screams and hollers. Three uniformed Coast Guard seamen were tussling with Chemical Ali G, who'd been wrestled to the floor. The putt-putt golf course was a wreck, as a collection of Gray Beards and Arrowsoft employees screamed insults at a cluster of dark-suited men and women.

Apart from the seamen's rifles, thankfully, Maggie and Rachael could see no other weapons.

"Get off my boat!" Gandalf was screaming at a young man, holding a bundle of papers in his hand.

"Now, you have to listen to reason," the young man was saying.

"You can serve your warrants up your ass!" Gandalf bellowed at the man and shoved him. This produced a reaction from one of the armed seamen, who broke off the attempt to handcuff Chemical and brought a weapon around to Gandalf. "You think that scares me?" Gandalf threw his hands up at the baby-faced boy with the gun. Gandalf's beard billowed around his neck as he blustered, adding intensity to his anger.

"Now, nobody start point guns at people!" Maggie strode up, quickly situating herself at ground zero in the ballyhoo. She stepped right in front of the barrel of the seaman's M16, holding up a palm to it. "This is how people's feelings get hurt. And nobody needs to be hurting anyone's feeling."

The baby-faced seaman faltered, looking to the dark-suited young man for a cue. The man with the papers in his hands shook his head and the seaman returned his attention to the handcuffed Chemical Ali G on the putting green.

"Now, what's all the yelling about?" Maggie smiled. She spotted the three representatives of Arrowsoft, who seemed to have turned sheet white in terror.

"Maggie, talk some sense into this pencil neck," Gandalf gave the young man a dismissive wave.

"If you'll shut up for a second, I'll try," Maggie condescended. She took a moment to whisper something to Rachael, then turned her attention to the young man with the fistful of papers. "Now who and what are you?" she said with an impish grin.

While Maggie spoke, Rachael circled around and spoke softly to the Arrowsoft employees. She herded them quickly away from the confrontation and the men with guns.

Meanwhile, the young man with his hands full of papers sucked in a lungful of air. He'd obviously explained who he was and what he wanted few times already. "I am Special Agent Galahad with the FBI. These are my colleagues, Agents Ralph and Chesterton." He gestured to a man and woman behind him. Then he pointed at a second woman dressed in a gray suit. "And that is Special Agent Ortiz with the IRS." The young woman with a briefcase nodded.

"IRS?" Maggie parroted, taken aback.

"Yes, and these -" Galahad held up the papers in his hands.

"No," Maggie shook her head, cutting him off.

"What?" The Special Agent's momentum was lost, derailed. "No what?"

"No, we don't say another word, anyone." Maggie gave a gesture to the encircling Rafter contingent. "Until _she_ leaves." Maggie lowered an accusatory finger at the IRS agent. It was as if she was pointing out a harlot at a stoning.

"What, no -" Galahad began.

"No, nothing. And that's final." Maggie stepped off, taking Gandalf by his arm, turning him away from the confrontation. Rachael had ushered the Arrowsofters up a nearby staircase and returned in time to see Gandalf and Maggie exchanging words, but Rachael couldn't make out their conversation.

The Special Agent shook with frustration. He threw up his arms and turned to his compatriots. They could only shrug.

The Coast Guard seamen lifted Chemical off of the car deck and to his feet, his hands firmly handcuffed behind his back. Chemical's nose was bleeding again. He certainly wasn't having a good day.

"Fine, fine!" Agent Galahad said in despair. He turned to the baby-faced seaman. "Please escort Agent Ortiz back to the MLB."

The boy nodded and he and the IRS agent crossed the car deck back to one of the black rubber dinghies.

"Now?" Galahad asked as Maggie turned back to him, all smiles and sunshine. "Are we done with all the screaming and pushing?"

"We most certainly are," Maggie beamed. "How can I help you, Special Agent?"

For one final time, the Special Agent held up his crumpled fistful of documents. "I have here duly notarized warrants for the search of all vessels currently abroad on the waterways of the Puget Sound, collectively and colloquially known as the Raft. If you'll take a moment to inspect -"

Maggie took the stack of documents, turned them around and read the first line of the first page. "Well, this is no good," she interpreted.

"I think you'll find that -" the Special Agent pushed on.

"This is warrant to search a domicile."

"Yes, a conveyance, such as a boat, that is used as -"

"In King County, in the State of Washington," Maggie ignored the Agent. "In the United States of America. I think you'll find this has no standing, Special Agent." She tried to hand back the stack of papers. Galahad would have none of it.

"Ms... I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

"Maggie Straight." Maggie was trying to push the papers into Galahad's hands. He was trying to push them back.

"Ms. Straight. I think you will find that these warrants are proper and correct, giving me the authority to search for evidence in connection to the death of Joanna Church."

"Perhaps, Special Agent. I do not doubt these documents give you the right to do whatever you please. _In the United States_. But, I think you will find that this vessel you are currently aboard is officially registered in, and sails under the flag of the sovereign nation of Liberia. If you have a warrant you wish to serve aboard this ship, Special Agent, I suggest you take it up with the Liberian Embassy."

The two stopped wrestling over the now tattered stack of papers.

Special Agent Galahad fixed Maggie with a withering stare. "I assume you have an ounce of evidence to support this claim," the Agent muttered.

"If you care to look to the stern," Gandalf chimed in. stepping up to the confrontation. "That _is_ the flag of Liberia, fluttering proudly in the wind, is it not?"

There was a small flag, not much bigger than a handkerchief and almost indistinguishable from Old Glory, flapping from the roof of the car deck. But it was the flag of the state of Liberia.

"You're kidding me," was the Agent's only response. In his shock, he accepted the crumpled mass of paper Maggie was thrusting on him.

"Do you want to go back to the judge who signed these warrants and argue it out?" Maggie crossed her arms and tilted her head. "Or would you rather be invited, as a guest, aboard this ship and each and every vessel that is collectively and colloquially known as the Raft?"

"Maggie!" Gandalf screamed. A cry of pain rose from the other Gray Beards.

Maggie raised a silencing hand.

Agent Galahad gave Maggie a sideways glance. "You'd do that?" Maggie nodded. "What's the catch?"

Maggie smiled a smile that could have melted butter. "Well, as a duly authorized law enforcement agent of the sovereign nation of Liberia, I have already begun an investigation into the death of Meer - Joanna Church. I would hope, in the spirit of international cooperation, that we might be able to collaborate on this investigation..."

There was a pause. A long, pregnant, uncomfortable pause. Seamen fidgeted with their weapons and Chemcial Ali G groaned. Everyone waited for Special Agent Galahad's reaction. Rachael took an involuntary step back, sure the whole situation was about to explode.

Then the Agent laughed. He tilted his head back and let out a guffaw. He shook his head and handed his torn mass of papers to a colleague.

"You people are insane," Galahad laughed, rubbing his eyes.

"My thoughts exactly," Rachael spoke up, seeing an opportunity. She stepped forward and held out a hand "Hi, I'm Rachael Bigallo with the _Seattle Times._ I just came aboard the Raft today myself, covering the Joanna Church story for the paper, and I have to agree with you. These Rafters are crazy. Looney toons."

"The _Seattle Times_?" Galahad wasn't laughing anymore.

"Yes, Maggie here is an old friend of mine, and when I heard news that the body of a Rafter washed ashore... well, I smelled a story. And, as you know, stories about the Raft are very popular right now. Six of the top ten most read articles on our website are related in one way or another to the Raft. And with information on the ins and outs of the Raft so hard to come by... this seemed like an excellent opportunity for an _exposé_. For instance, I had no idea that each and every ship in the Raft is registered in Liberia." Rachael reached into her pocket, took out a small notebook, and flipped it open. "Isn't that interesting, Special Agent? Interesting..."

"Now," Galahad held out a hand. "Now, just because they claim their craft to be registered -"

"What was your name again, Special Agent? Galahad? One 'l' or two?"

"Now, wait a minute..."

"G-A-L..." Rachael began to write with a small pen.

"Okay, okay, okay!" Galahad waved his hands in surrender. He turned to Maggie. "If you want to play at being a cop, that's fine. If this old fool thinks some Internet site that prints out Liberian registrations makes him immune from federal law, that's fine, too. We're just here to investigate a murder. Not start an international incident. If you're all willing to cooperate, then perhaps there's no need for warrants. Can we all agree that we all want the same thing here?"

"We can, Special Agent," Maggie replied.

"Then I don't understand why we're having this conversation."

"As long as cooperation means a two-way street, Special Agent, we don't have a problem."

"Good," Galahad sighed in relief. "Good?" He turned to the handcuffed Chemical.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm peachy." Chemical tried to smile through the blood running from his nose.

"Uncuff him," Galahad told the seamen. "Now, in the spirit of _international cooperation_ , do you mind telling me what you already know?"

"Of course, Special Agent," Maggie smiled.

Chapter 13

"Have you gone insane?" Gandalf began, pulling Maggie aside. Maggie had listed off to Special Agent Galahad the case so far as she understood it, careful to exclude all accusations that Chemical had made against Senator Hadian. As the Special Agent had turned to discuss the details with his colleagues, Gandalf had pulled Maggie by the elbow to a quiet corner of the car deck.

"No, I -"

"Give the FBI free range to board Raft ships? Are you crazy? You don't have the authority to do that – _I_ don't have the authority to do that – no one does! First-foot, Maggie, if the Raft has only one sacred law..."

"I know, I know," Maggie gave Gandalf a calming gesture. "No one is boarding any junks, not the FBI, not the Coast Guard. While they're maintaining the ruse that this is still just a murder investigation, we can limit their access. When they drop that ruse... well, it won't matter if we gave them permission or not. Best to play along for now, Gandalf, we've got more to gain than lose by cooperating."

"Maggie," Gandalf fumed. "They brought an IRS agent."

"I know, I know. They're no more here to investigate Meerkat's death than this is the dark side of the moon."

"Then what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to find Meerkat's killer, what do you think I'm going to do?"

Gandalf huffed. "About the FBI?"

"I'll take care of them," Maggie assured. "Just... trust me..."

Gandalf pulled the corner of his pith helmet down over his eyes and stomped off, unsatisfied.

Seeing that the coast was clear, Rachael stepped up to Maggie.

"Are you really a law enforcement officer in Liberia?" Rachael asked, her notebook still out. She should have been taking notes the whole time.

Maggie shrugged. "Why not?"

"But, won't they check?"

"Why bother?"

Rachael's look of concern slowly shifted to a broad smile. "Do you know how much trouble you can get into bullshitting the FBI?"

"I think I'm about to find out." Maggie returned Rachael's smile. Across the car deck, the dark suits seemed to have come to some conclusion. Their huddle began to break apart and Galahad turned back and stepped towards the milling Gray Beards. Before he could open his mouth to speak, however, his cell phone began to ring... as it did, the phones of the other agents also began to beep... as did Rachael's.

"Hello?" all the dryfoots said in unison. There was a loaded silence as each party listened to his or her handset. Maggie and Gandalf exchanged a quizzical look. Galahad was the first to react, muttering something into his phone, hanging up, and snapping his fingers at the two seamen. He thrust an urgent finger back towards the black rubber dinghies and instantly the armed sailors began to recede backwards towards the far end of the car deck. They didn't raise their weapons, but neither did they turn their backs on the congregated Rafters. They simply walked backwards, scanning the dark nooks and crannies of the old, empty ferry, watching for danger.

The dark-suited agents were less concerned with safety. With their phones returned to their pockets, they turned and sprinted off down the length of the car deck. No one spoke, they simply hurried back towards their launches.

"What the hell?" Gandalf looked over at Maggie. Maggie looked at Rachael, who had a hand over her free ear. She was trying to make out a scratchy voice on the other end of her phone.

"Okay..." she was saying, "okay... are they sure? Positive?" Then she hung up her phone.

She looked up at Maggie, surprise in her eyes.

"What?" exploded past Maggie's lips.

"The Seattle PD... Peter... They've picked up Horus..."

"Great," Maggie shrugged, confused.

"Yes..." Rachael licked her lips, her mouth was as dry as sandpaper. "They arrested him attempting to break into a Queen Anne home."

"Horus? Breaking into a house?" Maggie raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, the home of Senator Hadian..."

Maggie eyes grew wide. "Oh my God!" Maggie turned, looked the length of the _Kalakala_ to where the last of the Special Agents were climbing into a black dinghy. "Horus... Hadian..." Maggie stammered, darting her eyes quickly between Rachael, Gandalf, and the departing FBI agents. "Ha!" she laughed.

She clapped her hands together with a crack that echoed the length of the car deck.

#

For all parties concerned, it was lucky break that the Senator happened to be out of town when Horus jumped the six-foot fence surrounding his home, brandishing a .45.

The maid who was home, however, was almost terrified beyond her wits at the sight of Horus the Brontosaurus storming into the spacious home, waving around a gun and demanding an audience with the Senator.

He triggered a number of silent alarms. The Seattle Police responded, and after a brief fifteen-minute hostage situation, Horus surrendered without firing a shot. Cuffed and dejected, they took Horus, barefoot, downtown for processing, where he promptly refused to answer any questions until he'd first spoken to his Magistrate.

The police provided Horus with his constitutionally guaranteed Public Defender, but Horus was adamant: he'd speak to no one other than his Magistrate. It baffled the police. Magistrate? They decided to treat the demand like a request for an attorney. At least that they had a protocol for.

All this came to Rachael over the phone from her husband – officially, as a Seattle Police Detective.

Two in the afternoon had come and passed as the _Soft Cell_ floated adrift in the currents of the Sound, a good distance away from the _Kalakala_ and its slowly reconstructing protective island. With the Coast Guard gone, the Rafters began to return, wary, but eager to get back to business.

The _Soft Cell_ was heading for no place in particular, floating free. Maggie was below deck catching up on the television broadcast news as Rachael, on deck, perched in the pulpit with her iPhone at her ear.

"So this clown is letting no light in," Peter said over the phone. "Guy breaks into the home of a sitting US Senator, and now he thinks he can make demands... crazy, anyway, no one here can make heads or tails of what he's talking about. He wants his Magistrate, whatever that means, before he'll give a statement."

"It's Maggie. Maggie is his Magistrate. At least one of them."

"Well good," Peter sighed. "At least now we know that much. What is she? Some sort of lawyer? I thought you said she was the Raft police?"

"No, neither... well, both. It's hard to explain."

"But this is the guy, right? The one you told me keep an eye out for? The guy who killed that Rafter girl?"

"Yes, it's him."

"Then, ask and ye shell receive, my love: he's sitting in a holding cell as we speak."

"Thank you, Peter," Rachael said truthfully.

"So, when can Maggie come sort this guy out? The sooner he tells us why he broke into Senator Hadian's house with an automatic, the sooner we can charge him with attempted murder."

"Well..." Rachael looked over her shoulder towards the companionway. "Well, she can't."

"Huh?" Peter grunted over the phone.

"She's a Rafter, Peter."

"I thought you were trying to get her _off_ , before the Raft exploded? Well, this is a perfect opportunity."

"I know, but she won't come ashore. She won't give up her exempt status simply because you caught Horus."

"But isn't that all just bullshit?"

"Yes, but not to Maggie – not to all these Rafters. They really think they're exempt from the law. As I said, they're crazy. You should have seen them a few hours ago, they caught sight of an IRS Agent... they're not scared of the FBI, men with rifles, but the IRS..."

"Well, she'll have to make an exception. If she's this guy's lawyer..."

"You'll need to work out some sort of amnesty. Like diplomatic immunity."

Peter laughed. "You're kidding, right?"

"No, seriously. Talk to that FBI guy, Galahad. Who just came out here with all the warrants. You know who he is?"

"Kid Galahad? Sure."

"Well, he and Maggie struck up some sort of rapport. Get him to set up a twenty-four hour amnesty."

"Why would he do that?"

"'Cause twenty minutes alone with Maggie and this guy will confess to shooting Lincoln. And Maggie's no lawyer, there's no client privilege. You can record the whole interview."

Peter was silent. Thinking. "You're sure she'll get a confession out of this Horus character?"

"I guarantee it," Rachael answered with a peculiar sort of pride.

"She's that much of a badass?" Peter chuckled.

"Oh, yeah," Rachael laughed.

"Stop, I'm getting jealous."

"Peter... it's not like that."

"No, no, I know," Peter backpedaled. "Okay if I give the FBI your number?"

"Sure."

"Okay. Love you."

"I love you, too," Rachael said, and the line went silent.

#

"He's asking to speak to me?" Maggie said, sitting up off the salon bench and turning off the TV.

"That's what Peter says, and the police are treating the request as if you were his lawyer."

"Well, good for them."

"So, we've got one hell of an opportunity here." Rachael sat down at the galley table across from Maggie.

"We certainly do..." Maggie stroked her chin.

"I told Peter to contact Kid Galahad. Work out some sort of pass,"

"Kid Galahad?" Maggie chuckled.

"Yeah – to let you go ashore for a few hours to deal with Horus."

"He'd never agree to that."

"He might. I told Peter that you'd get a confession out of Horus. One they could use."

"Yes, I would."

"I don't know if it will hold water later, but you've already set the precedent that you're a foreign national. Maybe that dodge will work again?"

"Perhaps." Maggie was visibly concentrating. "God bless the great nation of Liberia."

"And once onshore -" Rachael's phone in her pocket rang. She jumped, dug it out and answered it. "Hello? Yes. Yes, Special Agent Galahad." Rachael winked at Maggie. "Yes, she's right here." Rachael held out the phone.

Maggie took it and held it to her ear. "Special Agent."

"Ms. Straight. It's good to speak to you again," Galahad began. "I believe you're aware that your fellow Rafter, Eugine Meyer, has been arrested by the Seattle Police."

"Horus?" Maggie prodded. She couldn't resist.

"Yes, aka Horus the... Brontosaurus..." Galahad almost choked. "The charges against him are very serious. He was found in possession of a stolen weapon, and in the abode of a prominent official."

"Ah," Maggie feigned ignorance. "This is why you left the deck of the _Kalakala_ in such a rush? I thought we were just about to discover some common ground."

"Yes," Galahad said flatly. "Anyway, it appears that Mr. Meyer has designated you as his legal counsel."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, and pursuant to his sixth amendment rights -"

"Special Agent, are you asking for my help?" Maggie interrupted.

"Yes, Ms. Straight. The case against Mr. Meyer is airtight, but as you may know, here in the United States we have something called the Rule of Law."

Maggie could almost hear the agent smiling on the other end of the phone.

"Well, Special Agent, as you may also be aware, there a certain tax implications if anyone, such as myself, should set foot on US soil..."

"We are all aware of your interpretation of the US Tax Code. But, should your credentials as a peace officer for the sovereign state of Liberia prove to be genuine, we believe it will be possible to extend to you a visitor's visa for a maximum period of twenty-four hours."

Maggie didn't answer.

"Ms. Straight? Are you still there?" she forced Galahad to ask.

"Thank you," Maggie finally replied. "And I hope that I will be able to help you out in whatever capacity I can. But there is something I will need in exchange, Special Agent, for my assistance in dealing with Mr. Brontosaurus."

"What?" Rachael asked. She was only hearing half of the conversation, but it was the interesting half.

"What?" Galahad parroted.

"I'll need five minutes with the good Senator," Maggie said coolly.

"What?" Rachael almost fell off the galley bench.

"WHAT?" Galahad exploded at the other end of the line.

Maggie hung up and handed the phone back to Rachael.

"Are you _insane_?" Rachael asked, slack-jawed, taking the phone automatically.

"It doesn't add up, Rachael," Maggie said.

"What doesn't?"

"Horus."

"He tried to kill the Senator!" Rachael said, pulling at her hair.

"Exactly." Maggie climbed to her feet and stretched. Standing, her head almost reached the ceiling of the _Soft Cell's_ cabin. "If Horus killed Meerkat, which would have made perfect sense, and fled to the dryland. Why show up on Senator Hadian's doorstep with a gun?"

"'Cause he's an idiot?" Rachael volunteered.

"Well, of course, but an idiot showing every symptom of someone looking for revenge. If Meerkat was having an affair with the Senator, at least if Horus believed that Meerkat was having an affair with the Senator, then his actions make perfect sense. Horus jumped to the same conclusion you and I both jumped to. Pregnant Meerkat, high-profile, conservative US Senator, equals murder."

"Then..." Rachael leaned back. "Then Horus didn't kill Meerkat?"

"If he did, then why try kill Hadian?"

"Oh my God." It hit Rachael: half of everything she thought she knew, she didn't.

"And if Horus didn't kill Meerkat, who did?" Maggie asked, dropping back down onto the salon bench. And as if on cue, Rachael's phone rang again.

"Hello?" Rachael asked quickly. She held it out for Maggie. It was Kid Galahad again.

"Special Agent?" Maggie said into the phone.

"An interview with the Senator is out of the question," Galahad said flatly.

"Nevertheless." Maggie left it at that.

"But I can give you five minutes with his aide."

"I'm going to hang up on you again, Special Agent," Maggie warned.

"Ms. Straight," Galahad shot rapidly. "Ms. Straight. There's no way in hell -"

"Let me ask you the question that you asked me a few hours ago: aren't we all here to investigate a murder?"

"The Senator has nothing -"

"The Senator is currently my number one suspect in the death of Joanna Church, Special Agent. How can you honestly expect me _not_ to interview him? You're a law enforcement officer, would _you_ give a suspect a pass in an investigation of his nature simply because of his position?"

"No, but -"

"But nothing. Five minutes, Special Agent, that's all I ask. And we can put an end to all of this speculation. Need I remind you that I'm sitting here aboard ship, across from a breathtaking member of the news media. Who, if I found myself with no other outlet for my musing, I might confide to my speculations..."

"Ms. Straight..."

"Call me when you have the interview set up," Maggie said and hung up the phone. She handed it back to Rachael with a grin.

"That was evil," Rachael teased.

"Perhaps, but it's the best chance we have to save the Raft."

"By attacking Senator Hadian?"

"A good offense is the best defense, they say." Maggie leaned back on her bench and picked up the TV remote.

"They also say look before you leap," Rachael countered. Maggie switched on the television.

Chapter 14

The phone sat silently on the galley table for two hours.

Perhaps it was a waiting game, Rachael thought, with Maggie and Galahad testing each other to see who needed the other more. Maggie, for her part, didn't flinch. When the news broadcasts covering Meerkat's death were over, she simply switched off the television and stretched out on the salon bench.

There was probably something more critical they could have been doing, but nothing sprang suddenly into Rachael's head. Their next play was to interview Horus, that was clear, and Maggie was determined to hold the dryfoots hostage to wrangle an interview with the Senator.

Senator Hadian, Rachael smiled inwardly, what a scoop. If there was a more despicable public figure in politics, Rachael was unaware of him. Senator Hadian, author of the proposed 28th Amendment to the Constitution: a Federal ban on gay marriage. There was nothing Rachael would relish more than the idea of catching the Senator in the throngs of a sex scandal. The goddamned son of a bitch.

Rachael was salivating at the prospect, despite her professional ethics. She had to keep herself in check, restrain from starting a preemptive smear campaign before uncovering any real proof. All it would take is one call to the right reporter at the right supermarket tabloid and the floodgates would be open. There was every possibility that such a leak would never be traced back to Rachael, she just had to drop the pebble into the water, and the sharks would begin to circle...

Ah! She was mixing her metaphors, that was what sitting on such a time bomb like Senator Hadian and Meerkat was doing to her. But Rachael could resist, force down the urge to let the whole situation explode in the fat son of a bitch's face. It'd serve him right, he'd always been amongst the most outspoken opponents of the Raft. Shelter for cheats, felons, and perverts he'd called it on the floor of the Senate.

And however accurate that statement might be, it still got under Rachael's skin. Oh, to catch that self-righteous prick with his hand in the cookie jar...

Alright, Rachael knew she was biased. Perhaps it was Senator Hadian's success that offended her more than anything else. The truth was that there was a very real chance that his amendment might be ratified. And that possibility scared the life out of Rachael.

No, after more consideration, it was the Senator himself that offended Rachael. He was a slimy character, plain and simple.

When it had become obvious that there'd be no shoving his amendment through both the House and Senate with two-thirds majorities, he'd turned to a little known provision of the Constitution to pass amendments: the Constitutional Convention.

Normally, amendments to the Constitution began in the House or Senate, where two-thirds of each must vote for the amendment to pass. The amendment is then sent on to the states, where three-quarters of the state legislators must ratify the amendment.

But Article V of the Constitution contains another process by which an amendment to the Constitution might be ratified. It empowers the states to call for a Constitutional Convention. If two-thirds of the state legislatures agree, they may essentially do an end run around a do-nothing Congress. And with his amendment floundering at the Federal level, Senator Hadian had taken this populist cause.

It took some work, but as momentum built, he was able to convince thirty-five of the fifty-two state legislatures to call for a Constitutional Convention. Such a thing hadn't occurred since 1787 for the ratification of the Constitution itself. Political scholars were of differing opinions of exactly how a Convention of Amendment would operate – exactly how delegates would be seated – but Senator Hadian let none of the details dampen his enthusiasm. He called his Constitutional Convention, held conveniently in Wyoming, the only State at that time to successfully prosecute a gay couple for violating the state's same-sex marriage ban, and he proposed his amendment.

It was little more than a formality, really. The Senator had padded the delegate list with a small army of his political supporters. In fact, the actual convention was political theater at its best, Rachael had to admit. They televised the whole show. Speech after speech, it ran for a whole weekend. More than anything, the Constitutional Convention served as a political rally for the far right. After many years spent in a minority position in government, at both the Federal level and in state levels, the Constitutional Convention served as a much-needed shot in the arm to America's Conservative Movement.

Watching the convention, as any serious reporter had to do, made Rachael sick. The mix of small-minded bigotry and NIMBY populism was nauseating, but it delivered on its promise by swinging many political neophytes to the right-wing cause.

And it provided the perfect national stage for a character like Senator Hadian to strut upon.

He spared no straw men from his anger: the Raft, the gays, the liberals, the foreigners... all blamed for the decline of American greatness. Pass the 28th Amendment and America could once again take its place as the envy of the world, the home of free enterprise, the land of the brave, the home of the free.

It was the most disgusting sight Rachael had ever seen.

After the Convention, the proposed amendment made its way to the State legislatures for ratification. There, Senator Hadian's political theater collided with political reality. Three-fourths of the State legislatures would be required for ratification: thirty-nine. The first two-thirds, those that initially called for the Constitutional Convention, the flyover states and the Deep South, quickly affirmed their support. But the last four states turned out to be hard nuts to crack.

The Amendment was unpopular on the two coasts and Hawaii, states that had already legalized gay marriage or same-sex unions in some form. Above all, the Amendment was unpopular with the American people, with polls showing an almost two-to-one disgust at the idea of persecuting a minority group in such a fashion.

Puerto Rico finally succumbed, as did Illinois, for inexplicable reasons. After a year with the fate of the Amendment in doubt, the Senator was no closer to federally defining marriage than he had been before calling his Convention. He just needed two more states, two state legislatures to back his Amendment...

But the Left had entrenched itself, circling the wagons for one last hell-for-leather battle. There'd be no budging in New England, Democratic support there was far too strong. Senator Hadian decided to focus his attention on his home state of Washington, where west-of-the-mountain liberals were almost equally balanced by east-of-the mountain conservatives.

Senator Hadian, with his seat on the Finance Committee, brought in a lot of taxpayer dollars to subsidize agriculture in his home state. A defeat for his Amendment at home would be a personal humiliation as well as a political one. The Senator dug in his heels.

He cajoled, he bribed, he threatened, but he couldn't wring the result out of the Washington legislature that he demanded. Six months of trying and a dozen up or down votes and the Senator was at his wit's end. Washington was not going to go his way, even if it meant the loss of Federal dollars and the postponement of many needed infrastructure improvements. Rachael had never been so proud to call herself a Washingtonian as she had been the day the Senator's Amendment was shot down for the last time. She applauded, she cheered, she cried.

But the Senator wasn't totally beaten.

Article V, as well as provisioning for the proposal of a Constitutional Amendment via convention, also provisioned for the ratification of an Amendment by the same process.

This section of the law, surprisingly, was not untested. The 21st Amendment, and the repeal of the 18th Amendment, had been ratified in this fashion.

But could a Constitutional Ratification Convention be called _after_ a State legislature had rejected an Amendment? The law was unclear, and that cloud of fear still hung over the whole affair as Rachael sat at Maggie's galley table waiting for the call from Special Agent Galahad.

Hadian's attempts in both Washington and Oregon to convene Ratification Conventions were before the US Supreme Court. Should the Court decide in favor of the Senator, then the 28th Amendment would pass, and gay marriage in the United States would be ruled illegal. But should the Court decide the opposite, or should the Senator befall some sort of political scandal...

Rachael had it all right in front of her: the means to put an end to the whole Amendment. She could do so much good with one small telephone call...

It was twisting her up inside, the anticipation. She wanted the Senator to be guilty so badly she could hardly see straight. It took every ounce of her willpower to maintain her professional ethics, not to jump the gun and let the facts find the story later. One call and it could all be over. No more 28th Amendment. No more Senator Hadian.

One call.

Chapter 15

The phone rang, stirring Rachael from her stupor. She tapped its screen and raised it to her ear.

"You might as well have asked for John the Baptist's head," Kid Galahad growled, unconcerned with who was on the other end of the phone.

"Jezebel did get her prize," Rachael replied.

"Indeed she did," Galahad continued. "And you can tell your friend that she has hers. The Senator is back in town for four hours, then he has a plane to catch for the other Washington. So this farce you've both created better be over before then. Tell Ms. Straight her twenty-four hours has started. There will be an SPD vehicle waiting at the lighthouse at West Point."

The phone went dead. Rachael's look of triumph was enough to tell Maggie everything she needed to know.

"Well I'll be damned," Maggie said with a chuckle.

"You're surprised?"

"In fact, I am. I was playing a long shot."

"Well, you only have a few hours to get ashore, and up to the top of Queen Anne. There'll be a car waiting at Discovery Park."

"Then there's not a moment to waste." Suddenly, after so many hours of idleness, Maggie was all action. She hopped to her feet and sprang for the companionway.

#

It took them less than forty-five minutes to maneuver across the last expanse of the Sound into the water of Shilshole Bay.

The evening was beginning as Maggie weighed anchor and began to lower her small launch down from the stern of the _Soft Cell_. The air was warm, scented with the flowers of summer. Everything about the weather spoke to Rachael of an evening ripe for lazing on the back deck of the house, talking over her day with Peter and watching Margaret play in the yard. But the anticipation knotting up her stomach reminded her no quiet even at home awaited her onshore.

When Maggie had the fiberglass dinghy in the water, she installed the tiny, electric outboard. Soon, she and Rachael were motoring towards a sun-soaked strip of sand, dotted by beachcombers and playing children. They plowed through the water towards the small lighthouse that sat at the beach's western tip.

"You have to promise me that you're going to behave," Rachael began as the dinghy bobbed on the tide.

Maggie feigned disgust. "Rachael, what you must think of me to say such a thing."

"I mean it, Maggie. I know how offensive you must find the Senator's very existence. Trust me, I can't stand the son of a bitch, either. And you're not exactly his idea of a great American, the female, homosexual, secular, racially-mixed, liberal tax dodger that you are. But you have to behave. How we act in front of the Senator will reflect on the paper, and the _Times_ has no interest in alienating itself from such a powerful figure."

"You mean I shouldn't accuse him of murdering his crack-whore mistress?"

Rachael shuddered. "Yes, Maggie, that's exactly what I mean."

Maggie's launch ran aground softly, scraping up against the wet sand of low tide. Maggie sprang from the craft, quickly dragging it up and out of the licking waves of the Puget Sound. She uncoiled the mooring rope, letting it unravel on the sand, as she walked backwards up the beach towards the high tide line. There, she hammered in a stake and tied off the rope.

Rachael threw her feet over the gunwale and began to put her boots back on.

"Ah," Maggie had a revelation as Rachael climbed nimbly out of the small boat.

"What?" Rachael asked, tucking her pant legs into her boots.

"I forgot... I mean, I don't actually own..." Maggie looked at her toes, letting them curl in the sand.

"You don't have any shoes?" Rachael asked in surprise.

"Nope."

"Not even heels? For a special occasion?"

"Nope, no need..."

Rachael shook her head. "Well then, just watch where you step."

There was a black SUV up beyond the tall grass that backed the beach. A man in a suit stood beside it, his hands held up to shade his eyes against the evening sun. When Rachael and Maggie turned their attention to the car, the man raised an arm and waved.

"That must be our ride," Rachael said, starting up the beach. Maggie followed, looking down at her feet. She wobbled as she walked, unsure of her footing on the soft sand. The wobble didn't abate when they cleared the beach and began along the short length of blacktop between the lighthouse and the SUV. After a few steps, she stumbled.

"Are you okay?" Rachael asked, holding out a hand to help Maggie back to her feet.

"I don't think I have my land legs yet," she said, taking Rachael's hand.

"Ms. Straight? Ms. Bigallo?" The man in the suit had stepped away from the SUV. He was a short, athletic Asian man with a good-looking, genial face. "I'm Detective Sargent Yi, I work with your husband, Ms. Bigallo. Are you all right, Ms. Straight?" he asked.

"Fine, fine." Maggie dusted off her jeans.

When Rachael had Maggie back on her feet, she offered the free hand to the young man. "Thank you, Detective Sargent." They shook.

"If I understand the situation," Yi smiled. "You first have an appointment with Senator Hadian at his home." The Detective Sargent turned back to the SUV and opened one of the large passenger doors. "Those Agents from the FBI: Galahad, Rolph, and Chesterton, I'm told they'll meet you there. Then I'm to take you to County."

Yi held the door open as the ladies climbed into the backseat. When they were inside, he swung the door closed softly and circled around the car.

To Maggie, the SUV was enormous, an American-made behemoth. She only vaguely remembered that vehicles on land were made in such grandiose proportions. And luxurious, too. The soft leather seats were a sensory pleasure. Maggie took a moment to enjoy the interior as Yi climbed into the driver's seat. The lights faded and the console softly illuminated as he turned on the ignition. Beautiful.

Detective Sargent Yi brought the SUV around in a wide arc, and pulled away from the beach with enough torque to push Maggie back gently into the plush comfort of her seat. Thrust, Maggie remembered, the power of a gasoline engine. So many sensations were returning to her after a five-year absence. She smiled.

Soon they were climbing up the hillside away from the beach, a long, straight hill climb that made the engine of the truck strain. The Detective Sargent was speaking but Maggie was distracted at the sight of trees passing outside her window. She rolled it down, letting the scent of the pines waft in her face.

"So forgive me if I put my foot in my mouth," Yi chuckled. He was talking and driving, glancing up into the rearview mirror to look back at his passengers. "But I was told to extend Ms. Straight all diplomatic courtesy. Is that on the level? I mean, are you some sort of Raft ambassador?"

Maggie was oblivious. As the park gave way and the buildings of Magnolia appeared beside the road, Maggie looked on in enthralled wonder.

Rachael, however, was polite. "Ms. Straight is..." Rachael searched for the words. "She's not really here, if you know what I mean, Detective Sargent. This visit is all unofficial. The Raft doesn't know she's here and the Feds have agreed to turn a blind eye. As you can imagine, for tax reasons..."

"I get it, I get it," Yi nodded at his rear view. "I saw nothing, I drove no one nowhere."

"Exactly," Rachael smiled.

A right, then another right, and then the SUV was on a more major thoroughfare. The sight of Salmon Bay was to their left with the Ballard Bridge crossing it, glistening in the sun. Maggie watched it all with a childlike wonder.

At Dravus they took a left. There, they met with their first significant traffic. A light turned red and the SUV rolled to a halt.

"Ooo, ice cream, let's get ice cream," Maggie said, spotting a 7-Eleven beside the road.

"Maybe later," Rachael replied.

"I can't tell you the last time I had ice cream." The light turned green and the SUV again began to roll. Maggie watch the 7-Eleven pass by with disappointment.

"We'll get ice cream," Rachael assured. "But later."

Across 15th, Dravus began its climb up the side of Queen Anne Hill. The SUV roared, its engine revving, as it climbed up the switchbacks. At the summit of the hill, the afternoon sun vanished behind the canopy of leafy, tree-lined streets. Left and right the SUV maneuvered until Maggie was hopelessly lost. Even Rachael was unsure of their exact whereabouts until the SUV rolled out onto Highland Drive and began to pass the grand mansions that faced out over Elliot Bay.

"Here we are," Yi said as he brought the truck to a halt before one of the larger homes. There were two other SUVs like Yi's already parked in front of the house, along with a police cruiser. A uniformed officer stood in the drive way of the home, holding a rifle. As Yi stepped out of the SUV, the officer acknowledged him with a wave. "This way," Yi said to the ladies.

Maggie and Rachael followed the Detective Sargent up the driveway. It was a long gravel path that Maggie navigated gingerly in her bare feet, uttering a long series of 'eeks' and 'ouches'. They walked to an ornate porte-cochère, under which the familiar faces of Kid Galahad, Rolph, and Chesterton waited.

"The Honorable Ambassador from the sovereign state of the Raft, as ordered," Yi joked, stepped up to the FBI Agents. No one found him humorous and he was promptly ignored.

"You have no idea how many asses are on the line here, Ms. Straight," Galahad snapped at Maggie in place of a pleasantry.

Maggie was still dancing on the sharp rocks of the gravel drive. "Ms. Bigallo here has already spelled that out, Special Agent."

"Good, because if you think you're going to go in there and accuse a sitting Senator -"

"Don't worry, I promise I'll be on my best behavior." Maggie held up a palm.

"And only five minutes, the Senator is a busy man." Galahad turned towards the steps leading up to the house.

"I won't keep him a minute longer." Maggie followed, breathing a sigh of relief as she stepped off the rough gravel.

Up four steps and through the grand double doors, Maggie and Rachael stepped into the warm Old World comfort of the Hadian home. Persian rugs were below their feet and the walls were hung with portraits and panoramic landscape paintings.

At the precipice, Agent Galahad kicked off his shoes and proceeded into the home in stockinged feet. Rachael followed Galahad's example, pulling off her knee-high rubber boots. Maggie simply meandered on, her bare feet happily freed of the sharp gravel of the drive.

Galahad led them to a doorway nestled next to a large, ornate piece of oak furniture. He pulled open a heavy, paneled wooden door and stepped into a book-lined office. A large desk sat before a stained glass bay window and a green velvet settee sat across the room. Galahad pointed at the couch and took a seat for himself in a lone high-backed chair by the door.

Maggie and Rachael lowered themselves onto the green couch.

The room smelled like money, there was no other way to describe it. The collection of books was vast and guaranteed all to be first editions, Rachael knew. A small fireplace sat in one wall, unlit, but showing every sign of much use. The laptop on the desk was the only sign of the twenty-first century. The titanium sort, almost as thin as paper.

Galahad, Maggie, and Rachael waited in silence, the ticking of a wall clock counting off the seconds. Beyond the bay window, the police officer with the rifle passed, apparently patrolling. There was a long, silent moment, and the officer passed again, heading back towards the front of the house.

Rachael took out her phone and looked at the time. She looked up at the wall clock and realized it was three minutes fast. It was five o'clock exactly by her phone. She turned off the ringer and returned it to her purse. She looked over at Galahad, he was fiddling with the end of his tie. She turned to look at Maggie sitting next to her. Maggie looked pale.

"Are you okay?" Rachael asked.

"Landsick," Maggie said, burping.

"Landsick? Is that really a thing?"

"It must be," Maggie said, sweat beginning to bead on her brow. "'Cause I sure feel it."

"Maybe it's nerves," Rachael offered.

"I don't think so."

"Well, if you need to go outside and get some air..."

"I'll be okay," Maggie assured.

"What's wrong?" Galahad spoke up, rising in his seat.

"Nothing," Rachael said to him. She dug a handkerchief out of her purse and gave it to Maggie. "It's just warm in here."

"You know, if you two don't want to do this -" Galahad began, but he came up short, interrupted as the knob of the door began to rattle.

Chapter 16

Senator Hadian stormed into the room as if he were a solider charging up Omaha Beach in Normandy. His jacket was off, his tie undone, with his sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He was drying his hands off on a porcelain white towel, which he tossed down on the desk as he took a seat behind it.

He had a look about him as if he'd just finished working on machinery, perhaps changing the oil in his car. Of course, he'd been doing no such thing, but the air around him seemed to bristle with masculine confidence. His mane of gray hair and the ruddy tone of his face told the room he had nothing but contempt for what was about to transpire.

He sat down heavily in his large, padded leather chair behind the grand antique desk, and sighed. He said nothing, staring down the distance between himself and the small, ladylike couch containing Rachael and Maggie at the far corner of the room.

It was a masterful display of power, Rachael understood. She almost applauded. If Maggie and Rachael had been there to close a business deal, the deal would have certainly gone most favorably for the Senator.

Rachael looked at Maggie. She looked small and pale against the green velvet of the couch. This had been a mistake, Rachael panicked. Maggie wasn't ready for this. Thugs like Chemical Ali G and G-Men like Galahad were one thing, but the Senator was in a totally different league.

Rachael began to scramble for some excuse, some reason they were there that would offend the Senator as little as possible. The sooner they could get out of that office the better. Get Maggie back to her boat – no, get Maggie back to Rachael's house, off of the Raft and safe. They were onshore now, there was no reason that Maggie ever needed to go back to the _Soft Cell_.

Think of some excuse to get out of here and run, Rachael thought, as far away from Meerkat, the Raft, Senator Hadian, and the whole mess as they could. Rachael looked down at her purse on the floor at her feet. Maybe her phone was silently ringing at that moment, who could tell? Perhaps it was Peter with some critical piece of information...

"Senator, thank you for meeting with us on such short notice," Maggie began. Rachael looked up, forgetting his silly ruse. Maggie's voice was strong and forthright. Despite the look of queasiness on her face, there was no hint of weakness in her voice. Perhaps Maggie _could_ handle this, Rachael dared to entertain.

"This is a goddamn waste of my time, and you know it," the Senator growled. He rocked back in his chair, sizing up his competition. He hadn't made up his mind about Maggie, it appeared, but his face was hard to read.

"Still, I'm grateful that you took the time out of your busy schedule -"

"How about you cut the bullshit and you tell me who you are and what you want? And what this has to do with that crazy son of a bitch in my house with a gun? I couldn't get a straight answer out of these pencil-dicks," the Senator nodded at Galahad in his high-backed chair, "so maybe you'd do me the decency of being up front and honest.

"Alright, Senator, I'd be more than happy to." Maggie shifted on the velvet of the couch. Her color was still poor and she was sweating. "I'm a Magistrate aboard the Raft – sort of like a private investigator. We had a murder out there on the water, and all the evidence so far is telling us that you knew the victim."

Rachael coughed. Galahad shot up like a jack-in-the-box in his chair. There was a moment of terror as the Senator sat motionless in his seat. Rachael could feel the fight-or-flight reflex rising inside her. If she sprinted for the door, would she make it before the Senator made it completely around the desk?

"Ha!" The Senator let out a guffaw and slapped his knee. "Ha! Now that's funny."

Rachael relaxed. Galahad lowered himself back into his chair.

"Then I take it the name Joanna Church, or Meerkat, means nothing to you?" Maggie continued.

"Not a goddamn thing," the Senator shook his head, smirking.

"Well, the crazy son of a bitch with the gun who broke in here and scared your maid half to death thought you did. Thought you and she were having an affair. Making a baby, in fact. He was even under the impression that he was blackmailing you."

Suddenly, the Senator's visage soured. He leaned forward, putting his hands on his desk. "What was that?"

"Should I speak up, Senator?" Maggie asked.

The Senator Hadian rose an accusatory finger. "And you come in here, accusing me -"

"I'm accusing nobody of anything, Senator," Maggie raised her voice to match the Senators. "You simply asked why a man came to your house today to kill you, and I told you. Those are the facts, Senator. I'm not here to deal in conjecture."

Maggie's words seemed to belay the Senator's fury. His hands dropped back to the desk. For a moment he hesitated, then he slumped back in his chair, focusing his attention on the study of his adversary and her potential weaknesses.

"You're from that Raft, huh? And so was this fella with the gun?"

"That's right."

"You've both gone and screwed the pooch, coming back on dryland. That's going to cost you come tax time."

"Horus – the SOB with the pistol – fled to shore when his girlfriend was murdered. I'm something like his lawyer. The pencil-dicks," Maggie mimicked the Senator and nodded at Galahad in his corner, "concerned about the defendant's sixth amendment rights, have invited me onshore. I have a twenty-four-hour furlough." Maggie tried to smile. She didn't pull it off.

"Oh, they have, have they?" The Senator seemed curious. "How nice for you."

"And I thought it important to speak to you in person about this, before ugly rumors begin."

The Senator took a pen up off the desk and began to fidget with it. He didn't take his eyes off Maggie. "Is that your game?" he asked, his voice betraying a slight hint of concern.

"I'm playing no game, Senator," Maggie replied in all honesty.

"Convenient though, isn't it? That you and your friend with the gun should show up today? Today of all days..."

"I'm sorry?"

"What was the plan? That the nut job with the gun should shoot me? Or was that always a faint? And you're here to put the real bullet in me?"

"What?" Maggie recoiled in surprise. The Senator was becoming increasingly agitated. Galahad shuttled his gaze between the Senator and Maggie, unsure of exactly what he'd missed. But he reached under his jacket all the same for the butt of his pistol.

"Senator, I don't know -" Rachael tried to interrupt. But the Senator sprang to his feet and angrily tossed the pen in his hand down on the desk.

"Blackmail, is it?" he hollered. "Do you have a shred of proof? Damn it! Do you think you can blackmail a United States Senator and get away with it? Special Agent," Hadian turned to Galahad.

"Senator!" Maggie sprang from her seat. She strode up to the desk, her bare feet standing solid on the hardwood floor of the Senator's office. "Sit down!" she bellowed. And like a mother commanding her child, thrust a finger at the Senator's padded, leather chair.

The Senator was dumbstruck. He paused, mouth half open, and fixed Maggie with a determined stare.

"I am not here to blackmail you, sir," Maggie spoke in a clear, slow voice. "If you've misconstrued my comments to imply differently, then I apologize. But let me be very clear on this fact, Senator: I am here to investigate the murder of a young girl, nothing more. If we can return the conversation back to that, Senator, I think I can quickly finish up my business here and leave you in peace."

The Senator closed his mouth. He pulled himself up to his full height, perhaps a whole foot taller than Maggie, and slowly lowered himself back into his chair. At this cue, Maggie turned and returned to her seat on the couch next to an awestruck Rachael.

"It's just suspicious, that's all," Senator Hadian continued in a calmer tone.

"What is, Senator?" Rachael asked, looking at Maggie out of the corner of her eye.

"All this trouble... representatives with day passes off the Raft, right before the big vote..."

"Vote?"

"On the new tax code. It's already passed the House Ways and Means and now it's in front of the Finance Committee. It's seven thousand pages long, you understand, but perhaps its most interesting modification is the removal of the foreign resident exemption – that one sentence in the tax code that you Rafters find so convenient."

Rachael and Maggie looked at each other in surprise.

"You're editing the tax code? After all these years?" Maggie asked.

"Yep, it'll be the end of the whole lot of you. Not my idea, of course. I think the Raft is one of the best ideas in American history, but the Democrats have had it up to here with all of you." The Senator indicated his temple.

"You think the Raft is a _good_ idea?" Rachael asked in disbelief. "You've said the opposite in public."

"Well, of course," the Senator laughed. "Can't be seen to support banishment for the lowlife scum of society. Wouldn't project a warm, family image. The American People want their leaders to be tough on crime, not medieval. Personally, however, I think the Raft is best prison the United States has ever built. Costs nothing to run, nothing to feed the inmates, you don't even have to build a wall and the criminals climb into their cells willingly. Can you believe that? They actually _choose_ to be cut off from society. Forever. It's perfect! You couldn't design a better jail."

"The Raft isn't a prison," Maggie countered. "Rafters are free."

"Sure, sure. If that's what you want to believe. Free to live with all the rapists and murderers. You get all the worst of them, skipping out on bail and fleeing from warrants. They think that out on the Raft they're beyond the reach of the law, but the truth is they've only run right into the law's grasp. After all, there's no way any American court could, in good conscience, hand down a more cruel and unusual punishment than the Raft. Prison, an inmate has a hope of someday seeing release, but the Raft... the sentence is for life. More power to them if the Rafters want to believe they're living in freedom. Keeps them quiet, keeps them docile. Meek. But don't fool yourself, out there on the Raft they've got no more freedom than a canary in a cage."

"No," Maggie shook her head. "No," she repeated in a murmur. Suddenly, sitting on the green couch, she appeared small and pale and sickly. It was like the air had let out of her. Rachael tried to put a comforting hand on Maggie's shoulder, but Maggie recoiled as if in pain.

"But my colleagues to the left are unable to see the social genius of self-imposed exile. It's always been an irritant to them, a finger in the eye of their great progressive society. 'What's the point of prison if it's not a punishment handed down from on high?' they ask. You can't just have the scum of society punishing itself. And perhaps they're right... Tomorrow the revised tax code will clear committee and then it's on to a floor vote. After that, the Raft will be, perhaps, one Presidential signature away from oblivion. So you can see how the timing of all this is suspicious, my dears. An assassination attempt, however incompetent, and two lovely blackmailers only hours later. Perhaps it's all a coincidence, but you can understand my wariness."

"I do, Senator, I do," Maggie replied meekly.

"Then, if there's nothing else, I have a plane to catch." The Senator climbed wearily out of his chair.

"But, Meerkat -" Rachael began. Maggie stopped her, quickly reaching out and grabbing Rachael's hand.

"We've taken far more than five minutes of your time," Maggie said as she pulled herself groggily to her feet. "Thank you, Senator."

"But -" Rachael said again. Maggie just turned for the door, dragging Rachael along with her. Even Special Agent Galahad appeared surprised that the interview was actually over. He hopped to his feet and quickly opened the study door for Maggie.

Back in the hallway, Agent Galahad and Rachael fumbled with their footwear. Maggie was already out under the porte-cochère, where Detective Sargent Yi and Agents Rolph and Chesterton were waiting.

"How did it go?" Yi asked as Maggie came down the stairs.

"Fine," Maggie allowed bluntly.

"Fine, but -" Yi started. Maggie strolled past him, back onto the gravel drive. Out of the house, Galahad and Rachael stumbled, still trying to pull their shoes on. "Who? What?" Yi asked, bewildered.

Rachael shrugged. With her boots back on her feet, she cantered off down the drive after Maggie.

"What happened?" Yi asked Galahad after Maggie and Rachael were out of earshot.

"Nothing," Galahad shook his head. "Nothing. It was a waste of time. Let's get downtown. Let's get a confession out of the d-bag in holding and we can all have an early night."

Galahad and the other agents started towards their cars. Yi shook his head. He watched as Maggie strode off down the driveway with Rachael skipping to keep pace. She was already almost to the front gate.

Apparently, the sharp rocks of the gravel were no longer bothering her feet.

Chapter 17

Maggie stared morosely out the window of the SUV as it descended the counterbalance and turned onto 3rd Ave. She would only grunt in response to any of Rachael's questions.

Ah, Rachael was in familiar territory here. Sad, self-absorbed Maggie Rachael knew all too well. Rachael leaned back in the soft leather seat of the black SUV, determined to leave Maggie alone. It was for the best, or else they'd inevitability end up in some big fight about something that had nothing to do with what either of them was really upset about.

Rachael knew that'd get them nowhere. Just right back to where they were five years ago, living up on 58th.

Instead, Rachael took her notebook out of her purse and began to catch up on notes for her article she'd been neglecting. At first, the article had been a ruse, but after spending a day aboard the Raft, Rachael could see a real article beginning to form around the fake one she'd been pretending to write. She'd learned so much in such a short period, and the dryfoots knew so little about what the Raft actually was. Rachael had been given a unique insight and she had every intention of sharing it. At least after the murder case was over. After she'd gotten Maggie successfully off the Raft.

But Rachael sighed and closed her notebook. She couldn't quite summon the concentration to order the events of the day. It was a disappointment, she had to admit. In Maggie. The Maggie who'd picked her up from Alki Point had been so... confident. Not the Maggie Rachael had remembered from five years ago. Strong, decisive, commanding the respect of everyone she met. Three or four times, one Rafters or another had reminded Rachael that Maggie was some sort of hero. And Rachael had believed it, even before she'd learned exactly how Maggie had become one. Maggie just acted like a hero, someone you could so easily believe in and project your expectations onto.

Shamefully, Rachael now realized that she'd done the same thing. From the movement she'd reconnected with Maggie, all those old feelings, all that undealt with crap Rachael carried around, it had returned in one great burst. And to find Maggie so... exceptional. Tall, strong, lean, sexy. All that hunger she remembered having for Maggie, it came back. Despite Peter, despite little Margaret, despite a whole life that Rachael would have done anything on Earth to protect, Rachael had to admit to herself, at least for a few hours, that she'd really fallen back in love with Maggie.

But that had been out on the Raft.

Back on dryland, after going nose to nose with Senator Hadian, Maggie transformed back to her old self. Five minutes in a room with the most despicable public figure alive and Maggie had choked. At exactly the moment when Rachael had needed the tough, sexy, hardnosed Maggie from the Raft, she'd buckled over and shown her tail to that son of a bitch.

No, Rachael wasn't just disappointed, she was disgusted.

Rachael opened her notebook again and scribbled something unintelligible.

She felt like a fool. She'd bought into the silly, childish game of the Raft. She should have known better, approached the day with some modicum of professionalism, but her head had been so lost. That Maggie had seemed to stand tall at the helm of the _Soft Cell_ said nothing about Maggie, she hadn't changed, but rather the height of those she was standing next to. Bring Maggie back ashore and she was still the pouting whiner she'd been five years previous. It'd been foolish for Rachael to have expected anything different.

Perhaps it was a blessing. It put a period at the end of the sentence of so many emotions that Rachael had dredged up. A big, fat, permanent full stop.

At 3rd and James the SUV turned, pulling into the parking garage of the King County Jail. For the first time since leaving Queen Anne Hill, Rachael realized she was in a convoy, with two similar black SUVs turning off James into the parking garage behind them.

At the elevators, all the passengers congregated. Yi, Galahad, Rolph, Chesterton, and a number of unidentified dark-suited men and women who obviously patronized the same FBI tailor.

"You understand we're going to videotape this whole thing," Galahad said to Maggie, looking up at the elevator's lights.

"That's fine," Maggie replied.

"You're not a lawyer," Galahad continued. "Pretending to be one could get you into a lot of trouble. Mr. Meyer has been advised of his rights, he didn't ask for a lawyer, he asked for _you_. If you can get him to confess to breaking and entering into Senator Hadian's with intent to do bodily harm..."

"He'll confess, don't worry," Maggie said meekly.

The elevator chimed. The doors opened and everyone piled in. It was a tight squeeze, but everybody fit.

"Just a confession, we don't need anything on the record about Hadian and the dead girl. I hope we can consider that line of investigation dead."

"We can, Special Agent," Maggie answered as the elevator climbed.

Rachael rolled her eyes. Squashed in among all the FBI agents. Maggie missed it, but Rachael couldn't help but roll her eyes. Line of investigation dead, really? Maggie had hardly touched on the issue with the Senator. He'd shown a bit of anger and Maggie had just let it drop. And then he'd started in on the bullying – the Raft is nothing but a prison – and Maggie had folded up. Rachael had to swallow her anger. They'd been so close, so close to catching the Senator with his pants down, and then to have Maggie just bullied into a corner...

And now the opportunity was lost, Hadian was free to carry on with his insane 28th Amendment, and all because Maggie wasn't ready to play in the big kid league. Rachael wanted to scream.

The elevator doors opened on a beige, florescent-lit corridor. Detective Sargent Yi led the group to a door sporting a plaque that read "Interview Room 6." Inside was a small room, dark, with a second door and window running the length of one wall. Beyond was another room with a table and chairs. Rachael had seen enough police television dramas to know the window was the back side of a one-way mirror.

At the table in the other room sat a small, dark-haired man. He was wearing a set of orange scrubs sporting "KCJ" stenciled in black ink haphazardly on the front. He was alone but handcuffed, seated patiently at the table.

"That's Horus?" Rachael asked as she stepped through the door.

"Yes, that's him," Maggie replied.

Rachael had expected... muscles, tattoos, anything threatening. The short man in the orange jumpsuit looked like a misplaced engineering student. That was Horus? Everyone on the Raft had spoken of him like he was some sort of dangerous thug. Just one more thing about the Raft that was less impressive than it seemed, Rachael shrugged.

"Can I speak with him?" Maggie asked. Yi nodded and pointed at the door beside the mirror. Without hesitation, Maggie opened it and stepped through.

"Yo! The notorious M-A-G!" Horus said in delight the second Maggie stepped into the room. Just like his reputation, Horus's gangster patois contrasted harshly with his clean-cut, white-bread appearance.

"Horus, you've been a very bad boy," Maggie scolded, moving up to the table and sitting across from Horus. The voices in the interview room reached the observation room via mics and speakers mounted in the ceiling. Maggie and Horus sounded slightly otherworldly, as if they were conversing in an aquarium.

"Maggie, you gotta believe me, when -" Instantly, Horus began to well up with tears.

"It's okay, Horus. I know, I know," Maggie tried to comfort, tapping his cuffed hands.

"I had to do it, ya know? When I saw, I knew right then, that son of a -"

"I know, Horus, calm down. Don't get ahead of yourself. Just tell me step by step what happened, and then maybe I can help."

"You gotta get me outta here. Dryfoot time, yo... I can't do no dryland stretch..."

"Forget about prison, Horus, worry about a needle. You tried to pop a cap into a US Senator."

"Shit! He had it comin', ya know? What he'd done to Meerkat!"

"I know, but -"

"Help me, Maggie!" Horus exploded with emotion, tears and anger all mixed up. "She dead, Maggie, dead!"

"I know, Horus, I know. But from what I've heard from Chemical and others, you were playing some sort of serious game here. What are we talking about here, Horus? Blackmail?" Horus nodded. "And Meerkat right in the middle of it, front and center?" Horus nodded again. "What were you thinking?"

Horus shook his head and sobbed, leaning forward and resting his face on his bound hands.

"And now Meerkat's dead because of it."

"It were that Senator, Maggie. He murdered my baby girl!"

"Because she was blackmailing him? Over a baby?"

"Yeah... well, no. I mean, it started out..."

"How did it start out, Horus?"

"She gets this call, see..." Horus lifted his head and fixed Maggie with a bleary-eyed stare. "A chance to make some green. She's gone... couple weeks, I guess, for tests and shit, but none of it takes. And then... well, this Hadian guy keeps on callin'. Comin' back for another round, you know? I don't know when it stopped bein' about makin' a baby, and just bein' for the fun. But you know, she had it under control..."

"Until she actually got pregnant?" Maggie concluded.

"Yeah..." Horus said dreamily. "Then she got serious. Said she was thinkin' about kickin' off, puttin' her boots on."

"Boots on?" Galahad asked, back in the observation room.

"Leaving the Raft," Rachael translated. She didn't take her eyes off the one-way mirror, watching Horus speak.

"And you were okay with this?" Maggie asked.

"What?" Horus seemed confused, then offended. "Hell no!"

"And then Meerkat washes up dead on a beach."

"No, no, Maggie, Maggie!" Horus quickly backpedaled. "It ain't like that! It just ain't! You gotta believe me! I won't hurt my sweet baby girl! No! Never!"

"I know Horus," Maggie conceded. "But she is dead. What are people supposed to think?"

Horus was confused. Lost. Bewildered. "Maggie, you got to help me out!"

Maggie sighed. "Why'd you run, Horus? Jump ship? It looked bad, Horus. Meerkat dead and you missing."

"Shit, Maggie! I didn't run. I never got back to the Raft, yo. Never had a chance."

" _Back_ to the Raft?"

"Yeah, last night, I was onshore, ya know, moving some product. B-island representin', you know?"

"Weed?" Maggie interrupted.

"Shit..." Horus was regaining some composure. He looked around conspiratorially and continued in a lowered tone. "BC Bud... M-A-G. The good shit, ya know. A C-note a pound."

"Oh," Maggie nodded, leaning forward to huddle with Horus. Despite their whispers, the mics were picking up everything, transmitting it loud and clear back into the room behind the one-way mirror.

"And I'm headin' back to where I threw anchor off the woods, down south a ways. And I get back to the water and... bam! Five-O is all up and tossin' my junk. Crawlin' all over it like cockroaches, yo, lights a flashin'. So I bounce. Up and back to up the road to my B-island bitches. I'm outta there. I'm thinkin' someone snitched, ya know, I'm already plottin' Chemical Ali's funeral. Of course I didn't know, I didn't know what they were really lookin' for..."

"What, wait," Maggie was only half listening, the wheels in her head turning. "What time is this?"

"How should I know? Three, four..."

"It's still dark?" Maggie confirmed.

"Oh, hell yeah. I ain't movin' three hundred pounds of bud in daytime, M-A-G." Horus smirked.

Maggie leaned back in her chair and glanced back at the one-way mirror.

"And Meerkat was aboard?"

"Nah, she were out, aboard the _Geoduck_ with Tea Queen. Them police were waitin'."

"Then how did you find out that Meerkat was dead?"

"That's what I'm tryin' to say!" Horus pleaded. "I book into the La Quinta, yo. Get some sleep. It ain't until mornin', down in the lobby, with a big ol' plate of them Belgian waffles, and I see it on the plasma. All flashin' up Meerkat's picture and shit. I waren't there! I didn't touch her, yo! Them cops, they were crawlin' all over my boat. Waitin'. And who can get the police to come clean up their messes, huh, Maggie? Who? Why don't you try and guess?"

"So you went all _Taxi Driver,_ huh? Got a gun?"

"Hell, I still got connections."

"And you decided to settle the score with Senator Hadian yourself?"

"Shit." Horus leaned back in his chair. "For what he done. He didn't deserve no better."

Maggie glanced back at the one-way mirror and squinted, as if she were attempting to detect in its reflection if the confession would be satisfactory. Behind the mirror, Rachael suddenly realized she hadn't been taking notes. She frantically dug into her purse and came back with her notepad and began to scribble. Galahad shot her a disapproving look and then returned his attention to the mirror.

"Did you see any of this blackmail money?" Maggie asked, changing tactics. "That Meerkat was extracting from the Senator?"

"Sure," Horus shrugged.

"Greenbacks?"

"What else?"

"How much?"

Horus shrugged again. "Hundred – two hundred, maybe, it all added up."

"Two hundred _thousand_?"

"Sure."

"Sure?" Maggie snorted, distracted. "Where'd Meekat get that kind of green?"

"From the Senator, yo. Ain't you payin' attention?"

"Yes, of course," Maggie remembered. "For the surrogacy or blackmail?"

"Ya know, Maggie," Horus began contemplatively. "Thinkin' on it all, I'm startin' to think that maybe that surrogacy deal weren't never on the up and up..."

"You think so, Horus?" Maggie asked without an ounce of sarcasm in her voice. She pulled herself to her feet, pausing momentarily at the edge of the small table. "Thank you, Eugine, this has all been very informative."

"Hey, ain't you gonna get me out of here, Maggie? I ain't done nothin'."

"No, I dare say you didn't." Maggie turned for the exit. "Problem is, a lot of what you didn't do is downright illegal. You're going to have to do your stretch, Horus, and there's nothing I can do about that."

"Ya gotta help me, M-A-G..."

"I suggest you get a lawyer, Horus," Maggie said from the door. "The dryfoot kind. And a good one. You're going to need it." And Maggie turned the door's handle and stepped behind the one-way mirror.

Chapter 18

The interview had satisfied Galahad, but he was not happy. He had his confession on tape, but using it in court without needlessly smearing the Senator would require some creative editing.

Maggie didn't care, Rachael certainly didn't. Neither waited around for a thank you. Maggie was antsy to leave the County Jail. Yi offered her a ride back to West Point, but Maggie declined. Instead, the Detective Sargent handed her his business card. Maggie absentmindedly put it in her jeans pocket.

"Rachael, buy me dinner," Maggie demanded as they were walking towards the elevators. It was almost seven o'clock and they were both understandably starving. They'd eaten nothing since their early lunch aboard the _Geoduck_. "Is _DiJulio's_ still there at the corner of 1st?"

Rachael nodded. "At least I think so," she said. Rachael so seldom had reason to eat out downtown anymore.

"Great, let's walk, it's a nice evening," Maggie said with a smile. Rachael was too preoccupied to argue. Horus's confession was turning over in her head.

Out in the summer evening air, Maggie and Rachael descended the five blocks down James Street until it intersected with Pioneer Square. At the point of the triangle formed by James, Yesler, and 2nd was an old Skid Road bar turned Italian Trattoria. It was early enough that most of the window tables were empty. Rachael and Maggie stepped inside and were quickly seated. The waiter was prompt with a carafe of chianti.

"To your health," Maggie toasted and took a long gulp from her glass. Her mood seemed light. Rachael's mood, however, was decidedly overcast.

"I'm going to go to press with this story," Rachael said, scanning the menu and ignoring Maggie's toast.

"What's that?" Maggie said casually, turning her attention to the antipasto selection.

"Senator Hadian and Meerkat. After listening to Horus back there, I'm convinced. Horus's accusations, the presence of the police on his boat before Meerkat's body was found. It all fits together. There's a story there, I can feel it."

"You _want_ there to be a story there, you mean." Maggie sipped at her wine. "You're itching for any dirt on the Senator. You have been since Chemical mentioned his name back on the deck of the _Soft Cell_."

"Look, just because you can't go the distance against Hadian," Rachael began, snidely.

"What was that?" Maggie looked up from her menu.

"Just because of what he said to you back there about the Raft... it doesn't mean that I have to give him a free pass."

"What do you..?" Maggie began, then furrowed her brow.

"After Horus's testimony, I think I have enough for a story."

"Rachael." Maggie shifted in her seat. "What did Horus _really_ tell you?"

"The police aboard the _Straight Dope_ , the two hundred grand in cash. Is there any other possible explanation?"

Maggie chuckled and picked up her wine glass. "Oh yes, plenty."

"Maggie!" Rachael growled in frustration.

"Rachael, calm down. You're letting your personal hatred for Hadian interfere with your judgment. Just because he's a horrible human being doesn't make him a murderer. And just because Horus back there believes the Senator killed Meerkat, practically proves his innocence."

"Innocence?" Rachael fumed. She took a breath, remembered her wine glass and took a drink. "I don't follow," Rachael asked more calmly.

"Horus _thinks_ the Senator killed Meerkat because he _thinks_ that they were having an affair. But that we know not to be true."

"Do we?"

"Of course, Tea Queen said that Meerkat was actually onshore for rehab."

"If Meerkat wasn't lying to Tea Queen."

"Well, sure, but which of those two explanations is a few orders of magnitude more likely to be true? And we'll know in absolute certainty when the coroner's report is complete. If Meerkat was pregnant, then there's some potential validity to Horus's story, but if she wasn't... No, the question we should ask right now is not _if_ Meerkat was lying about Senator Hadian, but _why_ she would tell such an outrageous lie."

"To smear Senator Hadian," Rachael realized. "To throw blood in the water for sharks like me." She leaned back in her chair and pinched her eyes with finger and thumb. She was acting like a fool, she could see it now. Behaving unprofessionally. The whole interview with the Senator had just set her off. With Maggie acting so meek and the Senator's bullying. A whole new level of hatred for the Senator had risen up inside Rachael. It was clouding her judgment. On top of the political opportunism, Rachael now wanted to hit the Senator hard for being so vile to Maggie, so hateful about her chosen way of life.

But Maggie hadn't risen to the bait, she'd kept her objectivity, even suffering through a painful dressing down to do so.

Suddenly, Rachael felt horrible for everything she'd thought about Maggie back in the SUV. Now she was disgusted with herself for being disgusted with Maggie. Maggie hadn't taken Hadian's abuse because stepping foot on dryland had robbed her of her vigor. No, five minutes into the interview she'd correctly weighed the Senator's irrelevance to the investigation, and she'd done exactly what Rachael had asked of her: tried not to offend the Senator.

Rachael could see it now, with the red-hot rage lifted from her eyes. She felt horrible, she felt small, she felt doubly worse because she couldn't just apologize to Maggie. Maggie had kept Rachael and the _Times_ out of a difficult spot with an influential politician.

And in thanks, Rachael had hated her for it.

Rachael finished off the last of her wine. She was acting like a spoiled child. She was looking for the worst in Maggie in each and every sign of weakness. Did she really still hate Maggie that much? It'd been so long. But yes, she had to admit that she still hurt deep inside from all the pain that Maggie had caused her. And she hated Maggie for it. Rachael wanted to cry.

The wine had Rachael's head spinning.

"What about the money, though?" Rachael tried to distract herself. "And the police aboard the S _traight Dope_?"

"Now that is interesting," Maggie replied. The waiter returned. Somehow, the two had drained the carafe. Maggie ordered more wine and antipasto. The waiter smiled and receded. "The Senator was quick to provide a possible motive for Meerkat, or any other Rafter looking to implicate him in a torrid sex scandal. But that Meerkat was returning from her excursions to dryland with cash in hand..."

"Last I recall, no one got paid to go to rehab," Rachael tittered. She laughed far too loudly at her joke. She felt tipsy.

"Exactly, and the police investigating Horus's boat _before_ they could have possibly known about Meerkat's murder..."

"But what does it mean?" Rachael said as the second carafe arrived.

"I really don't know," Maggie said as she poured two more glasses. "But it is so easy to jump to conclusions – see vast conspiracies. No, we've got to get that coroner's report. And then get back to the Raft. Whatever happened to Meerkat, whatever answers there are to this puzzle, they're out there in the water, not here on dryland drinking wine with us in _DiJulio's._ "

"Maggie, I'm sorry," Rachael began, the words coming out a little too fast.

"Sorry for what?"

"For everything today. I barged my way into your life, pushed you around, upset everything. And you've humored me. I know it can't be easy, after all this time."

"Don't apologize," Maggie corrected. "Any good luck I've had today has been because you've been along. I'd have never gotten in to see the Senator, got the story directly from Horus's mouth without you."

"But - But I've been horrible."

The antipasto arrived. The new carafe was already half gone.

"You don't like the Raft, that's nothing to apologize for," Maggie said, spooning some cured meats onto her plate. "I understand it's an inside-out place. It's crazy. I know that better than anyone."

"But... but I don't agree with the Senator. After being out there, even for just a day, I know he's wrong. It's no prison."

"Mmm," Maggie said around her food, only half agreeing. "There's more than a little truth in what the Senator said."

"No."

"No, and I accept it, but... you know, it's like Zhuangzi and his butterfly..."

"It is?" Rachael smiled, emptying her glass.

"Yeah. 'Once I dreamed that I was a butterfly, happy and free, until I awoke. Ever since I've been unable to decide if I am a man who dreamed that he was a butterfly, or a butterfly still dreaming that he is a man.'"

"Yeah," Rachael nodded, the room spinning.

Maggie went on. "Am I a prisoner set free aboard the Raft, or a freeman imprisoned on it? Both states can be equal and true and mutually complementary, depending on your initial supposition."

"And you were a prisoner, weren't you, Maggie?" Rachael asked, her heart sinking. "Before you fell asleep."

"Rachael..."

"No. It's okay."

"It wasn't like that, I..." Maggie choked. She found her glass and tipped back the last of it.

"I know, it's all so long ago. We don't have to revisit ancient history."

"But when you thought I was in danger," Maggie said, searching for a bright spot, "you came. I can't thank you enough for that. With every reason on the Earth not to do so, you still came to help."

"You didn't need me, though."

"I needed you – I still need you," Maggie said, then regretted the double meaning.

They fell into silence. Rachael choked back a sob. The waiter, sensing a pause, appeared to take their order. Maggie ordered pasta and veal. Rachael said nothing.

Chapter 19

They had a silent dinner as the evening sun streamed in through the window to the west. Maggie ate, Rachael picked at her share of the noodles. Maggie ordered a third carafe of wine and they quickly put it to bed. With the pasta and meat finished, the waiter cleared the plates and Maggie ordered gelato and coffee. Finally, she got her ice cream.

After dessert, the bill came and Rachael produced her _Times_ Visa. Maggie choked when she caught a glimpse of the upside-down receipt Rachael was signing: twelve hundred dollars for dinner. The rapidity of dryfoot inflation always took her by shock, but the bill was almost triple what she expected.

"Let me get that," Maggie said, reaching out for the receipt.

"No, no, business expense," Rachael said, slightly slurring her speech.

"No, the paper shouldn't have to pay for my wine," Maggie insisted.

"And you have money?" Rachael looked up from the bill, raising an eyebrow.

"I have Sum," Maggie said.

"They don't take that onshore, Maggie."

"Of course they do," Maggie corrected.

"No -" Rachael began, but Maggie didn't wait for her to protest.

She waved down the waiter. Quietly she asked, "Do you take alternative forms of payment?"

For a moment, the waiter looked suspicious, then his scowl turned into a smile. "Of course, I'll just be a moment," he said, taking the bill away from Rachael.

"See?" Maggie said, self-satisfied.

"You'll get them arrested," Rachael shook her head in bewilderment.

"You're just sore because my money is better than your money." Maggie laughed. She finished off the last of her coffee.

The waiter returned with another bill, this one on shiny printer paper from Gandalf's Exchange. It was for almost five hours. Maggie coughed. Now she regretted trying to make a point. She signed the paper with her user ID and tipped the receipt, folding the copy quietly in half.

"Thank you," Rachael said honestly. After all, now she wouldn't have to fight with the paper's accountant, trying to explain how dinner for two could possibly cost so much.

Maggie and Rachael climbed from their seats, moving unsteadily on their legs. They headed for the exit, hanging on to each other's arms for mutual support.

There was no denying it now that they were up and about, they were both drunk. There was no excuse. Three carafes of wine and it was as if their knees were jelly. In front of _DiJulio's,_ they tripped and giggled like schoolgirls down the last step to the sidewalk. They kept their eyes firmly fixed on their feet, carefully attempting to navigate the uneven sidewalk as they climbed up the steep slope. After a few yards, Rachael reared back and gasped, almost tumbling back down the hill.

Maggie reached out and caught her by the arm.

"Shoes!" Rachael exclaimed drunkenly. She pointed down at the pavement, at Maggie's feet.

"Yes, like them?" Maggie lifted her left foot, modeling the loafer on it. Her bare feet were no longer bare. Until that moment, Rachael hadn't noticed. She'd been so self-absorbed, angry. But ever since the Senator's Queen Anne mansion... Maggie had been comfortably walking around town.

The... bitch! Rachael doubled over as a wave of laughter rocked her body. "You... you stole his shoes!" Rachael guffawed, howling. "Penny loafers!" Rachael's eyes began to stream with tears. Between the wine and the shoes, Rachael collapsed into a heap on the sidewalk. She clung to Maggie's hand for dear life. The shoes... they were absolutely the funniest thing she'd ever seen in her life.

Maggie chuckled along. But it wasn't really _that_ funny. "Yeah, I saw them there by the doorway, and I knew I'd need something on my feet, so..."

"You stole Senator Hadian's shoes?" Rachael howled, pointing down at Maggie's feet. People on the street were starting to give them looks. Maggie picked Rachael up, bodily lifting her back to her feet.

She had her arms around her waist, holding Rachael's weight. Their bodies were close, dangerously touching, Rachael's cheeks stained with tears.

"You stole that son of a bitch's shoes, Maggie," Rachael said, no longer laughing. Then, suddenly she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around Maggie's neck and hungrily kissing her.

Their lips intertwined. Maggie stood frozen to the spot, shocked in wide-eyed panic. Only after Rachael removed her arms from around her neck did Maggie fully understand what was going on. Then she moaned and pushed back hard, letting her tongue dance between Rachael's lips. They kissed for a long, exquisite minute.

Then Rachael was stumbling away, tripping on her own feet. She fell and hit the sidewalk, quickly springing back up. Before Maggie could say a word, Rachael was sprinting away, back down James towards Pioneer Square, her limbs flying wildly around her, tripping and stumbling.

"Rachael, wait!" Maggie called out as she began to give chase. But Rachael had already reached the corner of James and Yesler. She held up a hand, and a green hybrid taxi slowed. With a sudden burst of remarkable agility, Rachael threw herself into the back of the cab. Before Maggie had even reached the front door of _DiJulio's_ , the cab was gone. Maggie paused, looking up and down the street.

"Shit," Maggie cursed. She stood on the sidewalk all alone and shielded her eyes to the setting sun.

Shit was right, indeed.

Now how the hell was she going to get back to the _Soft Cell_?

After a long, pointless period of indecision, Maggie remembered the business card in her pocket. She fished it out and blinked incomprehensibly at Detective Sargent Yi's name and number on the card. The door of _DiJulio's_ was right beside her, so she stepped back up into the restaurant.

Maybe they had a phone she could use. Maybe they had a full bar. Maggie was going to need another drink. A strong one.

Chapter 20

Maggie's phone rang in the gloom, waking Maggie from a fitful sleep. The black iPhone added its incessant beep to the rhythmic thumping in Maggie's skull.

Ugh, too much wine and too much drama, Maggie thought as she collapsed out of her bunk. She was still wrapped in her heavy quilt as she scooped the phone up out of its charger and tried to read the screen with blurry eyes. She stabbed at it, hoping to make it stop its irritating chirp.

"Hello?" a small voice said from the phone. Maggie had accidentally answered it.

"Hello?" Maggie said, bringing the phone to her ear. "Rachael?" she asked.

"Yes. Morning. Did I wake you?" Rachael asked.

"Yes." Maggie was too groggy to lie. It was only then that Maggie realized that the rhythmic thumping wasn't in her skull, but outside her cabin. It was raining. Hard.

"Sorry, but I have the coroner's report in front of me. I figured you'd rather be woken up than wait."

"Yes... yes!" Maggie slowly began to understand what Rachael was talking about. "What does it say?"

"You were right: no signs of pregnancy."

"There you go. So much for your tell-all on Senator Hadian." Maggie unwrapped herself from her quilt and sat down on the galley bench.

"Well, it was a nice dream while it lasted."

"It was."

"But here's the wrinkle that's really going to tighten the screws on your hangover: they ran Meerkat's prints off her body. There was a hit in the FBI database. Meerkat's real name wasn't Joanna Church, but Rebbecca Oldrich."

"What?" That woke Maggie up.

"Yes, and there's an outstanding warrant – well, was an outstanding warrant – in Arizona on two counts of vehicular homicide. She skipped bail."

Maggie was still processing. Her brain was too fuzzy to keep up. "Wait, what? Homicide?"

"Vehicular. Drunk driving. I don't have the details yet, I'll have Peter pull it up when he wakes up."

"I don't understand," Maggie was thinking out loud. "Meerkat wasn't really Meerkat? She wasn't even Joanna Church?"

"I guess?"

"Then who's Joanna Church?"

Maggie could almost hear Rachael shrug on the other end of the phone.

"I said this wasn't going to help your headache."

"And you were right," Maggie said, leaning up against the table and putting her forehead in her hand. "Do you feel as bad as me?"

"Worse," Rachael groaned. "I got home and drank another bottle. Peter found me passed out on the couch after midnight with _Casablanca_ blaring on the TV. He had to carry me to bed."

"About -" Maggie started quickly.

"I'm sorry," Rachael interrupted.

"No, don't be sorry. I was stupid. We were drunk."

There was a pause, then Rachael unexceptionably snorted with laughter.

" _Stop laughing_ ," Maggie scolded.

"No, no. It's just... those damn shoes."

"I didn't intend it to be a prank."

"No, but..." Rachael sighed. "Maggie, don't take this the wrong way, but I love you."

"How could I take that the wrong way?"

"But..."

"Yes, but..."

"It's just... after you spoke to Hadian... and then to realize you did something so amazingly childish as steal his penny loafers... I just remembered how amazing you are. I saw it all yesterday, the life you've carved out for yourself out there on the Raft. You are amazing, Maggie, and now I understand why it is that you had to leave dryland and grow into the person you've become... But that's on the Raft, Maggie..."

"And your life is onshore," Maggie finished.

"Exactly. With Peter and Margaret. They're amazing, too. Really. You can only imagine."

"I can." Maggie cleared her throat, pushing down hard on her emotions. If she'd ever needed a one-liner, something witty to break the tension, now was the moment. "How long did you practice that speech?" she said.

"Since three this morning," Rachael replied. "When I woke up in a cold sweat."

"It was well worth the effort."

"Maggie -"

Maggie didn't know what was next and she didn't want to find out. "Let's just promise," she interrupted, "that this time, when we part ways, we both say goodbye, okay?"

There was silence on the phone. The rain was really pounding on the roof of the cabin. "I'd... I'd like that."

"Good." Now it was Maggie's turn to say nothing.

There was a clicking on the line. Maggie vaguely recalled the concept of call waiting. "Oh, I've got another call," Rachael's voice came back. "It's Galahad. I'll call you back, okay?"

"Okay." The line went dead. Maggie returned the phone to its charger and shuffled off, still wrapped in her quilt, back to the fore bunk. Whatever the weather was doing outside, she wanted no part of it. She dropped heavily into her bunk and pulled the quilt up high over her head.

Less than ten seconds later she was asleep once again, the rain and the phone call with Rachael forgotten.

Chapter 21

Rachael found a table in the _Salmon Bay Cafe_ and ordered coffee. Black and lots of it. She shook out her umbrella and stowed it under the table. Looking over the menu of omelets and fried breakfasts, her stomach did a flip. Just coffee for now, she told herself, and sipped it hesitantly when it arrived.

Rachael was no good at drinking and she knew it. Whatever tolerance to alcohol she'd gained through experience had been lost since the birth of Margaret. She'd needed neither the second glass of wine nor the tenth. Or any of the glasses in between.

But, against all common sense, she felt great. The emotional roller coaster of the day before was behind her, and it'd had a horrible dip at the end. But the cathartic punch of one last kiss with Maggie had knocked a whole head full of sense back into Rachael. When she'd awoken groggy and lost in Peter's arms in the middle of the night, she'd hated herself for her momentary infidelity. But in the cold, hard, vomiting light of the morning, she'd had time to reflect on the events of the day before.

From hating Maggie to loving her again, then back to despising her and again back to loving her, the single day had been a compressed replay of their relationship. Up and down, up and down, up and down, it'd always been that way with Maggie. You never knew what you were going to get.

And then to have her, one day, gone... but this time, in front of _DiJulio's_ , it had been Rachael's opportunity to do the leaving. That felt good. That was cathartic. That, perhaps, had always been what she'd needed: to leave Maggie standing in the night while Rachael ran away – ran towards something else. Back to Peter and Margaret and her life. She'd turned tail and run, perhaps a few minutes too late, but she had done it. She'd stepped up to the line, but not over it.

Of course, any sensible person would have seen the line a mile before she'd crossed it. But Rachael wasn't about to beat herself up about that. She'd tested herself and found herself fit. She was trying very hard to keep this morning a 'glass is half full' kind of morning. There'd be time to review her mistakes later. Much later.

And perhaps, as Maggie had said, this time they'd finally have a chance to say goodbye. That kiss... it'd been a step back, but perhaps you have to take a few steps back to realize there's no going back at all. Goodbye would be nice, goodbye would mean... goodbye.

Rachael drank her coffee.

She took her notebook out of her purse and flipped it open to her notes from the County Jail. The waitress came by for her order, but Rachael sent her away. The door opened and in walked Special Agent Galahad. The whole restaurant turned to watch him enter as the doorbell tinkled and the door swung closed behind him. He'd exchanged his drab, FBI-tailored dark suit for a set of BDUs. Blue and white camouflage, if that was actually a real thing. He sported a large handgun on his belt and a heavy bulletproof vest with "FBI" in large yellow lettering. His armor was glistening wet from the short walk across the parking lot to the front door. Crossing the room, he took the chair opposite Rachael, pulled a bluetooth out of his ear and placed it on the table in front of him.

"Thanks for coming," he said. He turned over his mug and the waitress arrived to fill it with coffee.

"No problem," Rachael replied, snapping the cap off her pen.

"Er... I was hoping this could be... off the record?" Galahad held up a hand.

Rachael shrugged, snapped the cap back on her pen and returned it and her notebook to her purse.

"I wanted to speak to you in person, vis-à-vis the whole Senator Hadian and the _Seattle Times_ situation."

"Vis-à-vis?" Rachael raised an eyebrow.

"What sort of article are you planning to write?" Galahad stated flatly.

"Ah." Rachael bought herself a moment sipping coffee.

"There's nothing floating around but the innuendo of known felons..." Galahad began.

"No, I know," Rachael agreed. She had nothing. She knew it, and very likely Galahad knew it, too. But she wasn't emotionally prepared to admit defeat. "Myself and Ms. Straight are continuing our investigations."

"Now, Ms. Bigallo..."

"What can I tell you, Special Agent?"

"You can tell me you don't even have enough evidence to post a classified ad."

"You're not trying to interfere with the free expression of the press, are you, Special Agent?"

"I'm trying to protect a prominent man from baseless attacks, Ms. Bigallo. Call it what you will."

Rachael sighed. She really had nothing. Not a stitch. Not even enough for an article on the Raft if she left out all the libel against the Senator. She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Agent, as much as I'd like to make your life difficult..."

"Then the _Times_ is going to sit on the story?"

"Story? What story? I haven't even mentioned it to my editor." Rachael shrugged in despair.

"Excellent." Galahad slapped the table with his palm. He picked up his cup and drank a large mouthful of coffee. "Well, Ms. Bigallo. It's been a pleasure." He began to climb to his feet.

"What's with the combat gear?" Rachael asked.

Galahad hesitated, then dropped back into his chair. "We're back out on the Raft this morning," he said with some relish.

"Serving warrants? Dressed like that?" Rachael asked with alarm. "It'll mean war."

"No, no more warrants."

"Then what?"

"Safety checks." Galahad stifled a smile.

"What?"

"Coast Guard regulations. And the Revised Code of Washington. They're quite explicit, even vessels carrying foreign registration are required to have certain safety equipment to navigate inland waters. Life vests and so on. And then there are regulations regarding the safe and proper disposal of waste. Coast Guard certification is required for all sanitation devices used aboard ship. Those certifications need to be checked, regardless of the home port of a vessel, or you can't sail in US waters. It is well within the powers of the Coast Guard to board a ship and check for the presence of the required equipment. It's not an intrusion on foreign sovereignty."

"You're going to write Rafters _tickets_?" Rachael could hardly believe her ears.

Special Agent Galahad beamed with pleasure. "As you might be aware, the Kon-Tiki Races begin today. It's quite a significant draw for both Rafter and mainland boaters. There's a significant migration of vessels. North. The Coast Guard will be policing those races, issuing citations to any and all vessels that are found to be out of compliance with regulations."

"But -" Rachael bit her lip. "You don't seriously think the Rafters will sit still for any of this, do you?"

"Frankly, we don't really care." Galahad seemed distracted, in a hurry to leave. "The law is the law and it is our job to enforce it. It's been a free-for-all out there aboard the Raft for too long, and the consequences have been deadly. The time has come for a little law and order aboard the Raft. And there's no time like the present."

Rachael scowled. "Hadian's tax vote passed then?" she said.

Galahad hesitated. "I -"

"It didn't!" Rachael pounced. She reached back into her purse and came up with her notebook.

"It was sent back to committee," Galahad admitted. "The Anarchists and the Dixie Separatists threatened a filibuster. Nothing to do with the language relevant to the Raft, you understand, but..."

"The Raft has gotten a reprieve." Rachael scribbled. "So you're going to lawyer them to death instead. Counting life jackets."

"Ms. Bigallo..."

"You must know how the Rafters are going to react – of course you do, look at how you're dressed. Are you _that_ stupid?"

"Only an idiot would sail out there unarmed." Galahad climbed to his feet.

"But you just had to stop by and make sure the Senator's reputation was in tact, that none of this was going to blow back in his fat face," Rachael said, loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear.

"As far as we're concerned, the murderer of Joanna Church is still at large aboard the Raft."

"But no one named Joanna Church has been murdered, the identity of the body has come back. I saw the coroner's report his morning. Meerkat's real name was Rebbecca Oldrich."

Special Agent Galahad paused for an instant, concerned. Was it confusion or irritation? Rachael couldn't quite tell. Then he turned on his heels and marched for the exit, his heavy boots echoing off the restaurant's wooden floor.

Curious, Rachael thought as she closed her notebook and searched in her purse for her phone.

Chapter 22

Maggie awoke to the sound of a gunshot.

She sat up erect in bed, kicking off the heavy quilt. The shot was far off, but it had definitely been a gunshot. Maggie listened. There was a second crack and Maggie leapt from her bunk. She exchanged the warm, soft comfort of below decks for the cutting, diagonal spears of rain outside the companionway. The clouds were low, the world engulfing the _Soft Cell_ in a blanket of gray nothing. But she'd heard a gunshot, she was sure of it.

As the torrential rain soaked through her PJs, Maggie asked herself exactly what she'd expected to find above decks. A muzzle flash? In the fog? It was easy enough to make a rough guess to the shots' source: they'd come from a general easterly direction, back towards the _Kalakaka_ and the main island of the Raft. Maggie dived back below decks and quickly dressed. Within ten minutes, the _Soft Cell_ was underway, motoring slowly though the rainy gloom.

Muted silhouettes of other craft began to appear at the edge of Maggie's vision as she drew closer to the epicenter of the Raft. The dark shadows were oddly motionless. The normally busy decks of vessels appeared abandoned in the gloom.

Where had everyone gone?

The answer came quickly as Maggie closed in on the _Kalakala_ , the faint din of something that sounded like a sporting event reached Maggie ears: a crowd, a large crowd, hooting and cheering. As the streamlined dome of the ferry broke through the fog, Maggie could see the car deck packed to the grab rails with bodies. Shoulder to shoulder, Rafters were standing, all eyes focused into the depths of the ship. Maggie swiftly roped the _Soft Cell_ up to the outer edge of the _Kalakala's_ collected donut of boats. She scampered quickly across the slick connected decks until she'd reached the ferry.

"Making false accusations and speaking hearsay isn't going to do any of us any good!" Gandalf boomed at the collected mass of humanity. Dropping down onto the car deck, Maggie attempted to squeeze into the crowd. There couldn't have been a soul aboard the Raft who wasn't in attendance, there was barely an inch for her to maneuver. Someone had cleared Gandalf's putt-putt golf course away, but the giant J.P. Patches head was still standing at the far end of the ferry. Gandalf was using it as a podium, balancing precariously on the flat of J.P.'s floppy hat. "What we need here is some calm, rational deliberation. If we all start going off half-cocked -"

The crowd erupted in a cacophony of jeers and hoots. There was obviously no interest in rational deliberation. Gandalf waved his arms, trying to restore order. After little success, he pulled a single-action revolver from his belt and fired it into the air, off the rear of the car deck. It got the desired result. The collected throng of Rafters lowered their objections to a murmur.

Well, Maggie had found the source of her gun shots.

"Hey, what did I miss?" Maggie asked, tapping the nearest man on the shoulder. It was the latecomers at the very back of the _Kalakala_ and the man Maggie spoke to was an old-timer known as Woodgum.

He looked over his shoulder and smiled a toothless smile at Maggie. "Oh, hi, Maggie. You just arrivin'?" he asked in a thick Inland Northern accent.

"I was..." Maggie tried to think of a suitable excuse for her tardiness. "Sleeping."

"Oh, yeah?" Woodgum laughed. "Well, you missed all the excitement. The first few junks that sailed north, ya know, them that's headin' up early for the Freaky Kon-Tikis, to set up, they run into the Coast Guard. Big ol' cutter from the Pacific. Blockadin' the Sound off Point No Point, don't you know? Stoppin' everythin' afloat."

"A blockade?" Maggie said in surprise.

"Oh, yeah, it's war, everyone's sayin'. Them Coast Guard fellas mean to keep us from the Freaky Kon-Tikis!"

"But -" Maggie stammered in shock. At the front of the _Kalakala,_ Gandalf was again speaking up. Woodgum turned to listen.

"Now I know you are all a little hot under the collar, but we've got to stay calm and we've got to stay organized!" Gandalf's voice was echoing through the car deck. Now that everyone was quiet, he needed no amplification to be heard all the way at back of the ship. "Our unity is our strength, people, we have to remember that. If we start trying to push past that cutter one or two at a time, them Jack Boots are going to pick us off. But if we can stay united, there's a chance we can stand up against this affront and send a message back to the dryland that the Raft is not to be trifled with, that we will not stand idly by and let our citizens be pushed around!"

There was a general murmur of approval from the audience.

"But we have to face reality here. The Coast Guard, the Feds, the police, they have us outgunned."

The crowd made some unhappy grumbles. Gandalf silenced them with a wave of his hand.

"And if we sail full steam at that blockade, the only place we're going to find ourselves is in a gunfight! And a gunfight with the Coast Guard is no gunfight we can win!" Angry hoots of disapproval. "We have to attack this more strategically. A head-on collision is just going to let the authorities paint us as extremists."

"We're not starting any fight!" someone in the audience yelled out. "Sailing on the open water isn't an act of violence. If the government thinks that gives them the right to stop our ships, board our vessels, then that's starting the fight, Gandalf! It's them, not us!"

The car deck erupted with cheers of approval. Gandalf was losing the crowd.

"You have a point, my friend, but it's a point you won't live long enough to make twice. What do we have? Pistols? Rifles? Shotguns? And you want to sail towards machine guns? Cannons? What you're suggesting is suicide. Dying today for no reason won't do any of us, or the Raft as a whole, a damn bit of good!"

"You just want to sit on your ass then? Float here and cower in our bunks? And miss the Kon-Tikis?" someone called out.

"No, no!" Gandalf said adamantly. "Point No Point is not the only route to the San Juans. We can also sail via Skagit Bay."

"And Deception Pass? Are you crazy?"

"It can be sailed."

"You're crazy!" And a wave of laughter and ridicule washed over the gathered Rafters.

Gandalf stood at the pinnacle of J.P. Patches's hat and tugged at his beard in despair. He was convincing no one, and the strain was showing on his face.

All through the speech, Maggie was making her way towards the front of the crowd, pushing through the gathered Rafters wherever the slightest light showed between them. Everyone was armed, Maggie could see, rifles slung over shoulders and pistols on hips. The meeting was less a town hall than an armed mob waiting for its orders. Maggie began to understand the magnitude of the bomb that Gandalf was standing on J.P. Patches's head trying to defuse.

Everyone on the Raft had been waiting for this day, anticipating it. They'd collected weapons and ammunition in preparation. Every Rafter knew that some day soon the government would come for them. And today, that day had finally arrived.

Blockading the Freaky Kon-Tikis, it was just about the most provocative act the government could have conceived of. Nothing was integral to the Raft, more a part of it, than the Kon-Tiki Races.

And this on top of Meerkat's death. Despite all Maggie's best efforts, she knew that Chemcial's baseless allegations against the Senator would be Raft-wide by now. It didn't take a conspiracy nut to start connecting the dots of Meerkat's death and the Blockade.

It was one big powder keg, a burning stick of dynamite about to explode and destroy the Raft. And poor Gandalf was standing on top of it, trying to snuff out the fuse.

The other Gray Beards milled at the front of the car deck. Orac was standing, a foot rested on J.P.'s mouth, speaking in a low voice to Gandalf. Tiger Print saw Maggie approaching and ordered the crowd to part, letting Maggie through. When Maggie pulled free of the armed mob, Tiger Print took her hand.

"Oh, Maggie, this is terrible. Gandalf can't convince them, they're hungry for blood, the lot of them."

"No, it didn't sound like it was going very well."

"Why would the Coast Guard do such a foolish thing, Maggie? Don't they understand what they've started?"

"They don't want to be seen as weak."

"Where's your lovely friend? The reporter? Perhaps she can help?"

"She's back on dryland."

"If the dryfoots understood what was going on, don't you think they'd try to stop -"

Gandalf spied Maggie and hopped down off his improvised podium. "Excuse me, can I borrow Maggie?" he interrupted his wife, taking Maggie by the elbow. He pulled Maggie aside behind the clown head, out of earshot of the crowd. "What's the news on Meerkat's murder?" he asked.

"I'm still investigating," Maggie had to admit. "I went ashore last night, I met with Senator Hadian and Horus. All I know is neither of them is our man."

"Damn it, Maggie!" Gandalf cursed. "Don't you understand what's happening here?"

"I do."

"If you had _something_ on Meerkat's murder it could help."

"I'm sorry, but I just don't know more -"

"And Hadian has nothing to do with it? What Chemical Ali G said?"

"It's all false. Not a grain of truth."

"But what can I tell _them_?" Gandalf thrust a thumb back at the gathered throng. "You know, people think the Senator is behind this blockade to cover up his involvement with Meerkat."

"That isn't true."

"Maybe, but can you prove it?"

"Well, no -"

"Then, what does it matter if it's true or not? Maggie, I need a murderer here. If I could prove to this crowd that the Senator has nothing to do with Meerkat, I could perhaps defuse the tension a little. Do you have _anything_?"

"Gandalf," Maggie grimaced. "I just haven't had enough time."

"Anything, Maggie, anything."

"I'm not going to make wild guesses."

Gandalf threw up his hands. He turned and stomped angrily back around the gargantuan clown head. Maggie turned to see Tiger Print standing well within listening distance of their conversation. Tiger Print gave Maggie a look of sympathy, perhaps pained acknowledgement, and turned to catch her husband's arm.

While Maggie and Gandalf were conversing, Orac had stepped up onto the hat of J.P. Patches. The audience now listened to him attentively as he spoke about non-violence. "...need to remember the teachings of Dr. Martin Luther King. That when faced with a stronger enemy, it is beholden on the weak, not to attempt to meet strength with strength, but to rise above the fray and transcend."

Gandalf paused at the base of the clown head, looking up at Orac with a confused look on his face.

Orac continued. "If we sail forward from this place and brandish our weapons, we will be met with a hail of death. A cloud so thick that not a rat will sneak forth from the storm. No, my brothers and sisters, that is not the fate that should befall us. That is not what the Raft stands for, what the Raft has always embodied. We are not a violent people, we did not flee to the water to bully and deject each other. We live in peace, we are peaceful people. Ten times – a hundred fold more peaceful that the dryfoots could ever imagine. Aboard the Raft there are no thugs to kick down your door, no bureaucratic cut-purse to browbeat the innocent. Here, aboard the Raft, we live in peace and harmony. So it is and so it shall always be.

"But if there's violence today, the government will portray it as fulfillment of prophecy. That the Raft was always a doomsday cult, a floating Jonestown, just waiting for the spark to send it plummeting to the bottom of the sea. If there's violence today, that will be the only legacy that we will leave behind us. The only truth that our children and our children's children will ever learn.

"But it is within our power to write the history of this day. The government wishes to make this into a Ruby Ridge. Let us make this into a Birmingham, Alabama."

"What?" Gandalf said from below, surprised.

Orac continued on, lost in his own rhetoric. "If the Coast Guard meets us with guns, we will meet them with open arms. If they would board our ships, we will stand aside.

"Gandalf spoke the truth when he said in ones and two they will pick us off, but together we can resist this cowl of oppression. And that is what we will do, brothers and sisters. Perhaps you look around and see a Raft – your friends and neighbors standing at your side, their ships lashed to this ferry outside. But what I see, standing here looking out at your faces, is an _armada_. The greatest armada ever collected on an ocean, dedicated to truth and peace. Should this armada set sail and turn its course towards the clenched fist of anger that awaits us to the north, nothing on this planet will stop it. A thousand, ten thousand craft we can assemble, and what force on earth can stand in the way of that?" Agreeable murmurs arose from the crowd. "Divided we are weak, but together we are a force that can never be opposed. Brothers and sisters, sail together today and we shall crash against this blockade like the tide breaking on a beach. It shall collapse like so many twigs set before our bows! Brothers and Sisters!"

A cheer rose up from the crowd.

"We set sail!"

And Orac, leaping down from the gargantuan head of J.P. Patches, was swept up by the crowd.

Chapter 23

Before Gandalf could fully comprehend it had happened, he'd lost control of the Raft.

Of course, Gandalf had never been elected as leader of the Raft, the whole idea being against the most basic establishing principle of the commune. But people being people, any voice that spoke with authority had been dutifully listened to. And Gandalf, with his control of the Exchange, had spoken with command. He'd never contemplated up until that moment that his position at the top of the pecking order could be taken away from him. And perhaps that was why it was so easy for him to be blindsided. Orac, out of nowhere, had stolen Gandalf's Raft from him. Gandalf stood dumbfounded as Rafters began to clear the _Kalakala's_ car deck and return to their junks.

With one blow, Orac had both taken control of the Raft and doomed it to its destruction. Perhaps he really believed that the Coast Guard blockade might part at the sight of his enlightened non-violence. He'd been able to convince much of the rest of the Raft that it would. But it was suicide, plain suicide, Gandalf knew. He was left standing alone in slack-jawed silence.

The Coast Guard would eat them alive, fire on any ship that refused to heave to. Anyone who thought any different was insane. But the whole Raft had cheered Orac as he'd conjured up images of the 1960s and the civil rights movement.

But unlike Martin Luther King, no one onshore would blink an eye if the Raft vanished tomorrow. There'd be no difficult questions asked. The Rafters didn't understand... that they were a problem the dryfoots simply wanted the government to take care of. They wouldn't balk if the Coast Guard had to sink one or two or even a dozen Rafter ships. As long as the Raft disappeared, no one would fuss over the loss of a few Rafters. They would be obliterated, Gandalf foretold, and he'd let it happen.

"You've got to stop them," Gandalf said, grabbing Maggie by the arm. She'd taken her first step back towards her boat, joining the others.

"I know," Maggie pulled on Gandalf's grasp, trying to break free.

"You've got to stop them, Maggie," Gandalf repeated.

"Let go," Maggie yanked on Gandalf's iron grip. Her arm pulled free.

"Maggie -" Gandalf lunged for Maggie again, but Tiger Print stepped up and put a comforting hand on Gandalf's shoulder. That broke the spell and Gandalf realized he was being aggressive. "Maggie, if they try to run that blockade..."

"I know, but they've decided on their fate." Maggie watched as the last Rafters hopped away, clear of the _Kalakaka_. The fools were going to get themselves killed.

"Your friend. Bigallo. The reporter. You have to bring her back. If the media is there when Orac tries to run the Coast Guard's line..."

"I'll see what I can do," Maggie answered. But she knew there was no way in hell she'd get Rachael back on the Raft. Not after last night.

"Then find Meerkat's murderer. If we could hand him over to the police..."

"I will," Maggie replied, trying to move as quickly away from Gandalf and Tiger Print as she could without appearing ill-mannered. "I'll find out what happened." And Maggie turned, trotting off towards the _Soft Cell_.

"It's okay, honey," Tiger Print said to Gandalf. "Let Maggie do her job."

#

Maggie let her jog turn into a full sprint. She had to get back to the _Soft Cell_ , she had to get under sail. There was so little time left. Everything was about to explode. And she'd wasted so much time, with Senator Hadian, with Horus, with her feelings and Rachael. All dead ends. She'd gotten nowhere, no further than she'd been yesterday morning when her old iPhone had rung.

Do her job, indeed. Maggie was stumbling around in the dark like an amateur. The authorities onshore, Galahad, were laughing at her – and so they should. Private Magistrate, what did that mean? What had Meerkat's money bought her? A magistrate more interested in lunch and relighting an old flame than investigating a murder?

No, Meerkat had paid three hours a month and had expected justice. Maggie would find Meerkat's killer and do what she'd been paid to do.

But Maggie was at a loss, all she'd accomplished so far was to positively determine the innocence of all of her potential suspects. She was back to square one. She'd come up empty handed.

She'd need Rachael again, Maggie realized. There was just no other option. If she had any hope of defusing Orac's Armada, or breaking up the Coast Guard's blockade, or getting to the bottom of Meerkat's double – triple identity, Maggie would need Rachael and the resources and prestige her connection to the _Times_ brought along.

But she'd never get Rachael back aboard the Raft, not after last night, not after that kiss. Rachael was safely back onshore with her family, sleeping in a nice warm bed. No one but a fool would cast off and join the Raft just hours before its total destruction. And Maggie would be a heartless murderer herself to ask any wife and mother to risk her neck doing so.

There was no way in hell.

Maggie's phone was ringing, echoing out of the companionway of the _Soft Cell_ , as she climbed across the decks of the ships rafted up to the _Kalakaka_. The main island of the Raft was breaking up quickly, fleeing the orbit of the old ferry as quickly as popular opinion had fled Gandalf back on the car deck.

The Raft was reconfiguring itself into Orac's Armada in preparation to run the blockade and reach the Freaky Kon-Tikis. Its change was wordless, leaderless, and organic, with each and every pilot of each and every craft consciously adjusting, finding a position in the new command structure. Maggie cast off her ropes and floated free, letting the Raft transform around her.

"Hello, hello?" Maggie questioned the black handset, trying to answer it.

"Maggie," Rachael's voice finally emerged from the phone. "I just had the strangest conversation with Galahad."

"He's blockading the Freaky Kon-Tikis,"

"Yes," Rachael said in surprise. "How did you know?"

"News travels fast on the Raft, remember?"

"You have to warn everyone, keep to the south Sound. Kid Galahad is loaded for bear. He's ready for a fight."

"Yes," Maggie said calmly. "So are the Rafters."

"What's going on?"

"There was a meeting. A War Council. Decisions were made."

"They're not going to try to run the blockade? That's insane."

"It is, but they're going to do it anyway. There's been a... coup, I guess. Gandalf isn't calling the shots anymore."

"What? Who?"

"Orac," Maggie said flatly.

"Can you have a coup when you don't have a leader?"

"I guess so. At least, when it really counts. I... I need your help again, Rachael."

"Yes, you do," Rachael said without hesitation. "You want me to run the blockade with you?"

"Yes, but I can't ask..."

"You don't have to, Maggie."

"But Peter and Margaret..."

"I have you to keep me safe, Maggie."

"I really only have one play here, Rachael, and it's not a smart one."

"What's that?"

"To give Kid Galahad Meerkat's murderer."

"You know who killed Meerkat?" Rachael gasped in shock.

"No," Maggie said. "But the dryfoots don't know that. If we can sit down and parley. Maybe there's some sort of deal that we can work out. Some sort of compromise that will get the Coast Guard to back down."

"You want to sell the Feds a pig in a poke?" Rachael chuckled.

"In my defense, I have every hope that I'll find the pig to put in the poke before delivery of said poke is demanded. I just need to buy some time – somehow get Orac's Armada through to the Freaky Kon-Tikis."

"If I can help, Maggie, you know I will."

"Can you call Galahad? Set up a meeting?"

"I can certainly try. But he'll be aboard the blockade by now. I'll need a lift. Where are you?"

"At the _Kalakala_ ," Maggie answered.

"Then Alki again in an hour?"

"Sure, but..."

"But?"

"Thanks, Rachael."

"Don't thank me. It's your plan."

"But... tell Peter I'm guaranteeing your safety."

"I'm sure he'll be thrilled."

"One hour then."

"Just like yesterday."

"And Rachael?"

"Yes?"

"Do you own a gun?"

"Of course not."

"No, I didn't think you would."

Chapter 24

Maggie's toes curled in the cold as she piloted her launch towards Alki Beach.

The fog was still thick, though it didn't feel like any rain was falling. It was hard to tell, with a cold dankness to the air that felt something close to moving through a rainstorm.

Maggie shivered, her nerves were making her shake. Yesterday she'd been so panicked to see Rachael again after five years; today she knew she wouldn't feel like herself until Rachael was sitting in the launch with her. How one day could make all the difference, Maggie thought.

How a person's nice, safe world could come toppling down so quickly.

Maggie's plan was a terrible plan, even she had to admit it. If Kid Galahad didn't quickly see through its thin tissue of lies over the phone, then he'd surely cotton on to the con the moment he looked into Maggie's face. But at least the phone call Maggie had delegated to Rachael. Maggie didn't have to attempt to lie to a policemen over the phone. If anyone could pull off the deception, it would be Rachael.

After all, telling people half-truths was what being a reporter was all about, giving just enough information to let the audience assume what they wanted. If Galahad wanted to catch Meerkat's killer, Rachael would let him infer, without actually stating flat out, that Maggie had the identity of the killer to offer.

Nevertheless, the information would be transferred, the idea planted firmly in the Special Agent's brain. She was almost sorry she'd missed the exchange, but Maggie had her part to play, too.

Maggie huddled down deeper into her jacket, against the cold, thick, wet air. The shadow of Alki Beach was resolving through the fog before her, the outlines of few die-hard joggers moving along its shore. Maggie strained to make out any sign of Rachael against the gloom. Maggie's small electric outboard purred faithfully behind her, pushing her against the tide.

As the prow of the launch dug into the sand, Maggie stepped out into the surf. She dared not take a step up the beach, though perhaps her twenty-four hours of immunity was still good. She didn't want to test it, standing in the frigid cold water of the rocky beach. She searched the gray fog all around her, looking for any sign of Rachael. Cars moved by, shadows on the waterfront road.

Maggie was hit by a sudden pang for a cup of coffee. An espresso, from a machine. A latte or an Americano. It was silly the cravings that hit you the second you set foot off the Raft, it wasn't like life aboard was completely off from civilization. There was _Geoduck_ and other ships serving food and drink. But standing with her feet in cold water, Maggie hungered for a freshly made cup of shade-grown, fair trade coffee, the sort she'd served in her own café all those years ago.

There had to be an espresso machine aboard the Raft, there just had to be, but until that moment, Maggie had never felt any need to seek it out. She'd been perfectly happy with the Mr. Coffee aboard the _Soft Cell_. It was crazy what returning to shore reminded you of, Maggie thought, what you'd left behind. All the sweet, intricate details of life. Maggie smiled.

There was Rachael, moving across the beach towards Maggie. Her tall, thin, feminine silhouette haloed by a windswept head of red hair. She was carrying something in each hand. As she neared, Maggie realized it was two large to-go cups.

"Coffee?" Rachael said as she stepped up to the bow of Maggie's launch. She handed the two cups to Maggie and hopped quickly into the dinghy.

Mind reader, Maggie thought, cold and shivering in the surf. She handed back the cups, pulled the launch free of the beach, and climbed in as the boat floated on the waves. She kicked the motor to life and brought the launch around, gratefully accepting the offered cup of coffee from Rachael.

"So, what's the news?" Maggie asked after taking a sip of the warm drink.

"Galahad was shocked, but intrigued," Rachael replied. "He pressed me to tell him the killer's identity over the phone, but I was able to tell him, truthfully, that I was just as ignorant as he was."

"Ah," Maggie smiled. "Good."

"He'll expect answers, however, if you plan on going through with this charade. You're going to have to tell him something, even if it's a boldfaced lie."

"Mmm," Maggie murmured as she steered the small boat and sipped her coffee.

"Mmm?" Rachael raised an eyebrow. "I never liked your mmm's. They mean someone's dead, someone's lying, or someone's in a whole hell of a lot of shit."

"Mmm," Maggie said again.

"Well, which one is it?"

"It just doesn't make any sense..."

"No, if the Senator is off the hook, and even Horus. There's just no one -"

"No, not Meerkat. I mean, yes, that doesn't make a lick of sense, either. But Galahad. And the Coast Guard. Yesterday, when we left them at the County Jail. They seemed happy with Horus's confession. Satisfied. But today, they're floating in a fleet to blockade the Kon-Tiki races? Going out of their way to stick a finger in the eye of the Raft? Why stir the hornet's nest more when the bees are already agitated?"

"Maybe they didn't like the confession you extracted from Horus?" Rachael offered.

"Mmm," was Maggie's only reply.

"It did seriously implicate the Senator. Perhaps too much. And there is the fact that you stole a pair of his loafers. Perhaps he's sending in the Coast Guard to look for them?"

"Don't joke around," Maggie scolded, looking at her coffee cup.

"Sorry."

"It's..." Maggie started, then stopped.

"What?"

"Well, have you ever known a cop who can't spot a fake ID?"

Rachael perked up in surprise. "No, of course not. Peter can tell a real ID just by the feel of the plastic."

"Right. This whole new identity for Meerkat is sticking in my throat and I can't cough it out. If Meerkat's real name was Rebbecca, then the Joanna ID was obviously a fake. But SPD initially identified her as Joanna, so the ID they recovered from her wallet must have fooled one or two professional policemen."

"When I mentioned Meerkat's true identity to Galahad," Rachael remembered. "After he'd dropped the bomb about the blockade. He was surprised, or pissed off. One or the other."

"So, what about Meerkat's fake ID was so convincing that it fooled all of those cops?" Maggie mused. The _Soft Cell_ was nearing, she cut the outboard and brought the launch alongside the stern of the yacht.

"Well, I guess 'cause it wasn't a fake ID at all," Rachael replied, taking a coffee cup as Maggie pulled herself to her feet. Maggie caught the larger ship's grab rail and held firm.

"Exactly," Maggie said as she leapt spryly up and into the cockpit of the _Soft Cell_ , holding the small dinghy's bow line.

Chapter 25

They were going to need Gandalf if the ruse was going to have even the slightest chance of success.

The dryfoots would be just as ignorant to his sudden loss of position as they were to any of the other aspects of the inner workings of the Raft. As far it concerned the FBI, Gandalf was as close to an elected leader of the Raft is they would get. He spoke for his people, and should it became apparent that Maggie did not, in fact, have the identity of Meerkat's murderer in hand, she'd need Gandalf at her side to attempt to negotiate some sort of peace between the blockade and Orac's Armada.

If Gandalf could return to the Raft with something tangible to show – some sort of compromise with the powers that be – perhaps he'd be able to re-exert his old influence over the Rafters. He was still Gandalf after all, Web Master of the Exchange, the man who backed the money that filled each and every one of the Rafter's pockets. If Maggie could position him as the voice of reason to Orac's pie-in-the-sky idealism, there might be a chance that the Armada could be turned around.

Yes, Maggie was going to need Gandalf along for the ride.

And even with him aboard, the chances of getting any kind of concession out of the Feds was slim. But it was Maggie's only shot. She had to try before guns started getting waved around.

The _Kalakala_ was missing from the coastline of Bainbridge Island as Maggie sailed back through the fog to its former moorage. The whole Raft was gone, not a styrofoam cup or a slick of oil was left to indicate that anyone or anything had ever occupied those fathoms of water.

Maggie was late. Throughout this whole murder investigation, she'd been one step behind the crowd. But the wind from the south was strong. Unfurling the sails of the _Soft Cell_ , Maggie quickly turned the bow northerly, and soon the whitecaps were slapping at the stern.

Like a crew of a dozen, Maggie scrambled back and forth over the deck of the _Soft Cell,_ adjusting this stay, cleating off that halyard. Soon, the sails were full and by, and the _Soft Cell_ was heeling under the power of the breeze.

Inevitability, seasickness overcame Rachael. Luckily, her stomach was full of nothing but coffee and the good intention to eat as soon as she found time.

An hour passed into two and the morning fog began to give way. Kingston was to the port in the haze as Maggie began to overtake the first stragglers of the Raft. If Rachael had known no better, she'd have assumed that the crews of the small ships were on their way to a party. The impending collision with the Coast Guard's blockade had dampened none of the festival spirit of the Rafters. They were treating the day exactly like it was: the first day of the Freaky Kon-Tikis. The ships all had a Mardi Gras float feel to them, decked out in streamers and bunting. Despite the cold, men in Polynesian grass skirts and women sporting coconut bikinis were already celebrating on the decks. Pre-noon beers were open. Confidence was running high.

Rafters cheered as Maggie sailed by, standing grimly at the helm of the _Soft Cell,_ trying to milk every last knot out of the tailwind. She ignored them as they hooted, urging her on. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on the horizon, hoping to catch a glimpse of the _Kalakala's_ stern.

They were running out of time, Rachael could feel the tension building in Maggie. If they couldn't reach the blockade before the mass of the Raft attempted to run it... Maggie sailed for all her worth, letting the plodding Rafters fall off in her wake.

"I want your pistol, Maggie," Rachael said out of the blue.

Maggie stole a quick glance of surprise over to the seasick Rachael, then returned her attention to the task at hand. "What?"

"Your gun, that small black revolver, I want you to leave it on the boat." Rachael's stomach churned. If she'd had anything left to throw up, she would have.

"Are you serious?" Maggie kept her eyes forward.

"Yes, I don't want you meeting Kid Galahad carrying that gun."

"I'm not going to -"

"Maggie," Rachael scolded, as motherly as her green complexion would allow. "You've been out here on the Raft too long, you've forgotten. You had the pistol with you the whole time we were onshore, didn't you? When we met Senator Hadian? When you were in the cell with Horus?"

"Yes, but -"

"You can't do that Maggie! You've lot sight of dryland. You've been out here so long you've forgotten how regular people think. You can't just carry a gun around a Senator, Maggie! You can't take one into a jail. What if Horus had gotten it off you?"

"He wouldn't."

"But what if he did? You're lucky they extended you the courtesy of skipping the perfunctory pat down, or you'd been in a cell right alongside Horus. No, Maggie, maybe I can't talk you out of this plan to scam the US government, but I can make sure you don't try to do it armed."

"Rachael," Maggie sighed.

"They'll kill you, Maggie. One glimpse of the butt of that gun, and they'll shoot you dead. No questions asked. People just don't carry around revolvers, not on dryland, not anymore. Not without the intent to shoot someone. You've got to keep that fact forefront in your mind, Maggie. This is how the people you're dealing with think. They're not Rafters, they don't expect everyone to be armed. Carrying a gun is an act of provocation."

"If they want to shoot me, Rachael, they'll shoot me. They can find an excuse later."

"They don't _want_ to shoot you, Maggie. I think the Kid might even have a passing respect for you, but they _will_ shoot if they see that gun. Give it to me," Rachael demanded.

In frustration, Maggie dug into the back of her belt. She came back with the small polymer revolver, tucked away in a nylon holster. She handed it over to Rachael.

"There," Maggie said with unhidden disgust.

"Is it loaded?"

The patronizing look Maggie gave her was answer enough.

Rachael pulled herself wearily up off the cockpit bench that served as her perch. She opened its seat, stowing the handgun away in the compartment next to the electric outboard, then closed the lid again, dropping heavily back down onto its cushion.

"Happy?" Maggie tried to grin.

"Yes," Rachael said without irony.

Maggie returned her attention to the water. The Raft craft were growing thicker. The closer to the blockade the Raft came, the harder the party seemed to be raging. Alcohol and guns, Rachael mused, and the Raft and the cops... it would only take one spark...

Chapter 26

The _Kalakala_ was at the very zenith of the Raft's thrust forward, leading the charge towards the San Juans and the Freaky Kon-Tiki Races that awaited there. Gandalf may have opposed the idea of running the blockade, but he was far too shrewd a politician not to be seen at the forefront of whatever was happening aboard the Raft.

That meant the _Kalakala_ was at the front of the queue of craft that hurtled towards the awaiting blockade and first to cut its engine – its giant, Busch-Sulzer three-thousand horsepower diesel, converted to bio-fuels – as the fog broke and the sight of the Coast Guard ships appeared before them.

A line of craft spanned the Puget Sound, stretching from Point No Point in the west to Cultus Bay in the east. It was a thin chain of perhaps a dozen vessels spaced a few hundred yards apart. There was room enough between the craft for the whole Armada to pass should anyone be determined enough to do so, but the glistening sight of machine gun barrels and automatic grenade launchers dotting the decks of the blockading ship caused the Raft pilots to heave to, faltering in their charge forward. Before them was the Coast Guard's line of battle, a bright slash of red and white spanning across the Sound.

The Coast Guard's fleet consisted mostly of Motor Lifeboats and small Island Cutters, but dominating it was the shadow of the four-hundred-foot long USCGC _Joshua James._ It sat center stage in the blockade, oriented with its bow to the west. Its Bofers 57mm gun was idly turned southerly, covering the fast approaching Raft Armada as the tiny boats popped one by one out of the fog.

As sails were quickly collected and electric onboard motors killed, the Armada devolved into a muddled cluster of milling ships, circling and adrift, its forward momentum lost.

Only Maggie kept her sails full, closing rapidly on the stern of the _Kalakala_. Only when she was twenty yards out did she hand off the helm to Rachael and quickly began to reef her sails, furling the cloth and robbing the _Soft Cell_ of its heady forward thrust.

Kicking in the electric motor, Maggie brought her vessel in, touching up to the stern of the _Kalakala_ with the _Soft Cell's_ starboard side. Quickly, she tossed over lines and leapt to the car deck, securing the _Soft Cell_ to the ferry.

The _Kalakala_ was listing, adrift. What forward momentum it still maintained was slowly drifting it into range of the Coast Guard's guns.

For their part, the Coast Guard vessels were sitting motionless, waiting. As more Raft vessels came out of the fog, they shunted into the becalmed craft already listing before the blockade. There were many angry cries and muted thuds of wood hitting fiberglass. Early partiers spilled open drinks as ships came suddenly to a halt.

The sight of the Coast Guard's guns had dampened everyone's mood.

Maggie helped Rachael across the gap, down onto the old ferry's car deck. With bare feet firmly on the iron, Rachael followed Maggie as she sprinted for the aft stairs that lead up to the passenger deck.

#

For many years, Gandalf and Tiger Print had miraculously undertaken the work of restoring the _MV Kalakaka_. Originally put into service on the Puget Sound in 1935, it sported a unique, futuristic, Art Deco style that made it an instant international sensation. Sleek and chromed, the Puget Sound's "flying bird" ran the ferry route between downtown Seattle and Bremerton until 1967 when the slim waist of its car deck and its small loading doors made the _Kalakala_ impractical for use as a modern car carrier.

The vessel was eventually sold to an Alaskan fishing company where it became a floating cannery. A role it continued in for twenty more years, even after ceasing to function as a boat at all. Run aground in Kodiak, Alaska, the _Kalakala_ continued on in its role as a fish cannery until a succession of operators filed for bankruptcy and left her to rust, becalmed on the shore, a forgotten victim of the harsh Alaskan winters.

Then, in the year 1984, the rusting hulk of the _Kalakala_ was again rediscovered by the world. A sculptor visiting from Seattle stumbled across the icon while on a fish trip. He resolved to rescue the old vessel and restore it, falling in love with its abused but still sleek Art Deco lines.

But it would take almost fifteen years for the sculptor to realize his dream and remove the _Kalakala_ from the sands of its Alaskan beach. Re-floated, she was towed back to the waters of the Puget Sound. There, the work of restoring the old ferry proved elusive. For decades, well-meaning but poorly funded non-profits attempted to restore her, but failed. With various bureaucrat and financial hurdles thrown in her way, the _Kalakala_ rusted to little more than a carcass. Bounced from mooring to mooring, she lived out an itinerant life in various ports up and down the Puget Sound. Always one philanthropist's dream away from restoration, the ferry never found the resources necessary to kick-start its rebirth. For forty years, again, the craft was almost forgotten.

Until the birth of the Raft.

Richard Browne had been one of the Raft's earliest advocates. A self-made billionaire, he'd begun the tax resistance movement that eventually morphed into the Raft. He wasn't one of the first to flee from shore, but he was certainly the first to do so in style. Richard, after changing his name to Gandalf, purchased the derelict _Kalakala_ from a trust for little more than the back moorage owed to the Port of Tacoma.

He began a meticulous, luxurious restoration, pouring in millions, returning the ferry to its interwar grandeur, and reconfiguring sections of its decks for use as a residence.

He spared no expense, for he knew any money he didn't take with him to the Raft would be seized to pay his tax debts. The _Kalakala_ became the beneficiary of his billions, the store of Gandalf's wealth aboard the Raft. What money he did not spend of the ferry, rumor had it, he converted to gold and stowed away in bowel of the craft – a secret treasure room aboard the ship.

With this wealth he backed his Exchange, the online community from which the Raft eventually drew its default currency.

#

Befitting their great expense, the _Kalakala_ decks were a masterpiece of Art Deco styling. The restoration of the passenger deck up to which Maggie and Rachael sprinted had returned it very much to its former glory. The red velvet seats, the intricacy of the metalwork on the grand staircase, the gold leaf all spoke of a bygone era of panache and luxury.

Maggie and Rachael, however, had no time to savor their surroundings. Sprinting for the grand staircase, they took the steps two at a time.

The stairs brought them out onto the ferry's rear open air deck. Through a pair of double doors, sporting a pair of the ferry's signature modernist portholes, Maggie and Rachael stumbled into the _Kalakala_ 's Horseshoe Café. The ferry's old lunch counter was now converted for use as Gandalf and Tiger Print's living quarters.

Tiger Print looked up surprised from a seat at the room's titular-shaped counter. "Upstairs," was all she said.

Through another set of doors, taking a narrow, steel-lined flight of steps, Maggie and Rachael emerged on a flying bridge. The door to the wheelhouse was open and Maggie jogged quickly up to it. At the wheel, looking out at the commanding view of the Coast Guard blockade, Gandalf stood.

"They really mean it," he said. "They really mean to stop us." Gandalf turned and saw Rachael standing at Maggie's arm. "You found her. Good."

"We've got a small window to negotiate a peace," Maggie said, breathing heavily from the jog up three decks. "But I'll need your help. Orac's Armada seems to have lost steam, but it won't be long before someone tries to run that blockade."

"I didn't think they'd really do it," Gandalf said, looking back out at the foggy outline of the large Coast Guard cutter. "But it must have taken all of yesterday to gather such a fleet. All that nonsense with the FBI agents, the warrants, that was just to distract us. This had been their plan all along: cut the Sound in half, keep the Raft from the Kon-Tikis. Do they think this will find them their murderer?"

"No, they're not..." Maggie let it go.

"Perhaps Orac is right, perhaps non-violent resistance..."

"It won't be non-violent for long, Gandalf, you know that. If the Coast Guard opens fire on a blockade runner. The Rafter's will shoot back."

"And you think we can negotiate with them?" Gandalf turned back to Maggie.

"I'm just hoping to confuse them," Maggie admitted. "Promise them something, anything. They think you speak for the Raft, Gandalf, that you're our leader. They can only understand the Raft in those terms. We can use that."

"I can't negotiate on behalf of the Raft," Gandalf hedged.

"You don't have to. Lie, Gandalf. Lie. Promise them anything. Tell them what they want to hear. If we can get the Raft past this blockade, save the Freaky Kon-Tikis, then later maybe we can negotiate something substantive. But this gunboat diplomacy..."

Gandalf looked pale. He stepped away from the helm and pulled himself up to his full height. "Okay, what do we do?"

"We sail over there and tell them we've found Meerkat's murderer," Maggie answered.

"You have?"

"No, but it'll get us aboard. Then we try to hammer out some way to get the Raft past that blockade. That's where you come in. And Rachael will witness it all, make sure they realize that everything that happens here today is on the record."

"That's it? That's all you want?" Gandalf smirked. "The impossible?"

"Do you have a better idea?"

"No."

"Then stop bellyaching," Maggie commanded. "Come on."

Chapter 27

The _Soft Cell_ bobbed, tied up against the hull of the _Joshua James_. The great cutter dwarfed Maggie's tiny, fragile vessel, looming over it in the drizzly morning air. A rope ladder came spiraling down from the deck above, clattering down onto the bow of Maggie's craft. A shadowy figure moved above in the haze.

"No one has shot at us yet," Maggie said as she tested the strength of the lowered ladder. "I take that as a very good omen." It had been a hair-raising feat, sailing under electric power the thousand yards between the _Kalakala_ and Coast Guard blockade. Out in the open water, there was nothing protecting the tiny _Soft Cell_ from the itchy trigger fingers of a hundred young, inexperienced seamen.

They'd pulled in alongside the four-hundred-foot cutter, however, without incident. The Coast Guard must have seen that they constituted no serious threat, Maggie mused. But she feared they'd used up a good measure of their luck in the process. And they had so many more impossible feats stretching out before them, feats that would require just as much, if not more good luck.

Maggie crossed her fingers and crossed her toes. Every little bit helped, she told herself.

Rachael was sick again at the grab railing.

So much for a winning streak, Maggie shrugged. It'd been a bumpy five minutes navigating in close to the giant craft. The waters were choppy and the angle had to be just right or the _Soft Cell_ could have suddenly been thrown up against the mass of the _James_ and smashed to splinters. The maneuvering had sent Rachael to the grab rail, doubled over, coughing with the dry heaves.

"Why don't you wait here until Gandalf and I call for you," Maggie suggested, pulling herself up onto the rungs of the rope ladder.

"No, no, I'll be okay," Rachael burped.

"No, I don't want you to puke on anyone. Not until we've gotten at least a little acquainted. It has to be some law of international diplomacy: don't vomit on the other party. Just stay here until you feel better. Okay?"

Rachael waved from the grab rail. She was too sick to really care.

Maggie began to climb. When she was halfway up, Gandalf took hold of the ladder. There he paused, reaching into his shorts pocket.

"Rachael, can you hold on to this?" he asked, holding out an envelope in his hand. When Rachael didn't respond, he placed the envelope on the control panel by the helm. "I'll just leave it here. Can you at least make sure it doesn't blow away?"

And he started to climb. Maggie was many feet above him, struggling in the wind to climb up the slick iron side of the cutter. Gandalf climbed hand over hand, moving with an energy that seemed incongruous with his age.

Rachael slumped down on the cockpit bench and rested her forehead against the cold, wet grab rail. She felt horrible, the dry heaves were worse than actually being sick. If only she could throw something up she might feel better, she contemplated. The cramps in her belly were twisting and turning.

What was she doing here? she asked herself. She hated boats. She hated sailing, she hated the rain, she hated being wet. And she'd found herself neck-deep in all of the above. And there Maggie and Gandalf were, vanishing up and onto the deck of the immense cutter. She had to get off her ass and help, it was the whole reason she'd come along. She was no good to anyone sitting down there, bobbing like a cork, puking up nothing over and over. Perhaps the movement of the water would be felt less on the deck of a bigger ship...

She tried to pull herself to her feet, but her knees felt like rubber. Just five more minutes, she told herself, and then she'd attack that rope ladder.

Ugh, climbing rope ladders, she hated that, too. She should have stayed onshore. At home. In the warm.

A shot rang out above. Then another, and then a cluster of louder, faster shots. Rachael leapt to her feet as a bolt of terror shot down her spine.

"Maggie!" she screamed, but the rain and the lapping waves drowned out her cry. "Maggie!" she bellowed through her tears. She leapt at the rope ladder, but her hands were slick. She slipped back and fell, smacking her head against the helm's control panel.

"Maggie!" The pain, the nausea, the terror all mixed in her head. She was blind with panic, the _Soft Cell_ all around her moving and blurry. Some part of her brain came into focus and she remembered the small black gun she'd confiscated from Maggie. Oh God! She'd taken Maggie's gun and they'd shot her anyway! Bitter remorse mixed in with the cramps in her belly. Rachael slid across the slick cockpit and opened the storage compartment where she'd stowed Maggie's gun. She fished it out and tucked it into the waist band of her pants.

Hectically, she turned and started up the rope ladder. It danced and shuffled in her grasp, but she climbed undaunted.

Twice she lost her footing, scrambling to climb the ladder faster than was reasonable. As the rain blinded her vision, she pulled herself over the gunwale of the cutter and collapsed in a ball on the deck of the _James,_ exhausted. Painfully, she attempted to find her feet, reaching for the pistol in her belt.

From the blurry streaming haze that fogged her vision, the butt of a gun swung out and connected with her chin.

Two or three teeth gave way and Rachael fell hard up against the gunwale. Again, her head smacked hard against something solid and the world around her faded in and out of darkness.

Hands were on her, feeling at her stomach. One hand found the handle of the pistol and it was wrenched out of her clothing.

Then the hands were pulling her up to her feet as she coughed forth a stream of blood from her mouth. She gagged, sobbed, then tried to open her eyes.

The deck was full of many armed men running, panicked, to and fro. Two had her hoisted by the arms, her limp body suspended between them. As Rachael began to focus, the outline of a body on the deck resolved before her.

It was Gandalf, surrounded by a pool of red. Blood was gushing forth from a wound in his neck as he clawed at it in a futile attempt to check the flow.

He gurgled, choking on a mouthful of blood, and then coughed it up. Then, as if the air was suddenly let out of him, Gandalf deflated. He relaxed, letting his arms fall away from his throat. He sprawled out, almost peacefully, taking his last pained breath.

"Maggie!" Rachael screamed. But Maggie was nowhere to be seen. Men with guns, men in body armor, the dead body of Gandalf on the cold, wet deck. All this, Rachael could see. But no sign of Maggie.

"Maggie!" Rachael tried one last time futilely. But the men were bustling her off, dragging her useless legs behind them.

Her bare feet passed through the pool of Gandalf's blood, leaving a slick trail of red in Rachael's wake. They were carrying her below decks. She faded back into unconsciousness.

#

Rachael awoke in a ten-by-ten gray-walled room. She'd been tossed onto a bare cot, left to bleed quietly on her own. The blood from her mouth had stained through the canvas of the cot, drying and turning brown. Her mouth tasted foul and her head throbbed. She pulled herself up and the room began to spin.

"Maggie?" Rachael said hoarsely, trying to stand on unsteady legs. She flopped over to the door and tested the handle. It was locked, of course, Rachael had expected no different. But she rattled the iron handle regardless and gave the door a shove with her shoulder anyway. She had to at least check.

She slid down against the door's cold steel and began to cry. She let a wave of despair wash over her. Gandalf was dead, and for all Rachael knew, Maggie was, too. She hadn't seen her body, but...

She let her aching head fall into her hands and she sobbed. It was all her fault, there was no one else to blame. She'd been such a fool. She'd come out to the Raft with the express purpose of keeping Maggie safe, and she'd led her straight into danger. She'd taken Maggie's gun from her at the moment when she possibly needed it the most.

And the Coast Guard, the FBI, had gunned her down.

Why had Rachael agreed to come back? She'd been safe onshore, there'd been no reason to return. If she'd refused to help Maggie, perhaps she wouldn't have attempted this reckless plan.

It was all Rachael's fault, she sobbed. She'd killed Maggie, she'd killed Gandalf. The Rafters would have invariably heard the shooting. It was only a matter of time now before they attempted to run the blockade. And it was all Rachael's fault. It would be like the Branch Davidians all over again.

Rachael took in a deep breath of cold, stale air and tried to get a hold of herself. She was hysterical. It was doing her no good. What had happened had happened, she couldn't change that. She needed to focus, think like Maggie. What would Maggie do in a situation like this? She wouldn't be crying into her hands, Rachael reasoned, not now, not the Maggie who lived aboard the Raft. The old Maggie perhaps would have just quit, but not the new Maggie. No, she'd be planning, plotting some sort of escape. Rachael had to think like that Maggie – the new Maggie. If Maggie could change her stripes, then Rachael could attempt something similar. She just had to toughen up and stop sobbing like a baby. There was no one coming to help her, she had to help herself. That's what Maggie would do. Pull herself up by her bootstraps – or some other folksy piece of wisdom. Rachael pulled herself to her feet and looked over the large, watertight steel door.

"Hello?" Rachael called out. She rapped hard three times on the door. Her fist falls echoed in the ship beyond. "Hello!" Rachael yelled. "I want to talk to Galahad! Special Agent Galahad! My name is Rachael Bigallo and I'm with the _Seattle Times_! Do you hear me? Private? Or Corporal? Or whatever you are! Whoever was left to watch the brig! You've locked away a member of the press! You might want to talk to your Captain! This is not going to look good in print in tomorrow's paper!"

Rachael's voice reverberated off the walls of the small cell, but there was no answer.

After standing and listening intently for even the slightest sound from outside her cell, Rachael dropped herself heavily back onto her bunk. The pain in her head was overwhelming and she lay back down in her own bloodstain, closing her eyes. If she slept it didn't feel like it, the sound of the water beyond the hull like static in her ears.

Then, without warning, the ship became alive with noise. Heavy footfalls in the corridor beyond her cell. Low voices, murmuring. Rachael sat up in anticipation. The latches of the heavy hatch turned and the door swung open. Two men in heavy body armor with black rifles slung from their necks stepped into the room.

"Where's Maggie?" Rachael asked, standing and unconsciously taking a defensive stance.

The men gave no reply. One took her roughly by the shoulder and pulled her towards the door.

Rachael pulled her arm angrily from his grasp. "Where's Maggie?" she repeated. "What have you done to her?"

Both men took a firm hold of her arms and hurried her through the door. She struggled, but there'd be no breaking free from their iron grips. They led her back and forth, down gray corridor after gray corridor, up a flight of steep steps and through a room of heavily armed men milling and talking. At another hatch, identical to the one that had kept Rachael in her cell, the men paused. One opened the latch and swung open the door.

They pushed Rachael roughly inside, sending her tripping over the threshold of the hatch. "Bastards!" Rachael cursed as she pulled herself to her feet. The door swung closed behind her, slamming with an earsplitting certainty. She flipped the closed door a self-satisfied finger.

"Rachael?" a relieved voice said behind her.

Rachael turned and almost leapt free of her own skin. "Maggie!" she screamed and jumped forward.

She'd never been so happy to see another human being in her life.

Chapter 28

"Maggie! Maggie! Maggie!" Rachael repeated, peppering Maggie's bruised face with kisses. Square in the center of the room, sitting behind a cast iron table, Maggie's hands were in cuffs. The cuffs were threaded through a loop on the top surface of the table. She could hardly rise from her seat, much less embrace Rachael, and she recoiled like a henpecked child under Rachael's barrage of affection.

"Okay, okay." Maggie struggled to maintain some composure. Rachael satisfied herself with one final kiss on Maggie's lips and then let her be.

"I thought you were dead," Rachael gasped. "Gandalf..."

"And I would have been if you hadn't taken my gun," Maggie said with no small amount of honest relief. "Goddamn crazy son of a bitch pulled out his hog leg the second we got up on deck. I don't think he got off a shot."

"Are you hurt? Did you get hit?"

"No, no. I reached for the pistol, but it wasn't there. Good thing, too, or they'd have shot me down like an animal. But you're hurt." Maggie nodded at Rachael's face.

"I panicked. I got your gun and came up the ladder after you. I got the butt of a rifle to the teeth. I think I broke some."

"And Gandalf?"

"He died. I saw him take his last breath."

"Shit," Maggie nodded her head forward.

"What was he thinking?"

"I don't know," Maggie shook her head as it lolled forward. "I don't know, he went..." She snapped her head up. "He went ape shit."

"Ape shit? This whole situation is ape shit, Maggie. They must have heard the shooting back on the Raft. It'll only be a matter of minutes and they'll come storming through the blockade."

"Mmm," Maggie murmured.

"Maggie? Gandalf is not going to be the last person to get shot today. This whole situation is going to explode, and all you can say is 'Mmm'?"

"I think I understand it now," Maggie said, raising her head.

"Understand what?"

"Who killed Meerkat."

"What?" Rachael had to quickly rearrange her mental furniture. That's right, the murder. She'd almost completely forgotten. And now Gandalf was dead, too. "How? Who?" Rachael couldn't decide which was the more critical question.

Maggie's eyes suddenly grew wide. The sound of feet in the corridor beyond grabbed her attention. "This is going to go by fast, Rachael, but I need your support. No matter how crazy the shit I say sounds, you've got to back me up, okay? I've still got a chance at this – a chance to make the FBI back down, but I'm going to have to play it fast and furious, you got me?"

"No, I -"

"Just..." Maggie grunted in desperation. "Gandalf killed Meerkat, okay?"

"What?" The accusation hit Rachael like a locomotive.

"Just -"

But the door to the room was swinging open.

"Alright, Ms. Straight," Special Agent Galahad said as he stepped into the room. He was still wearing his blue and white BDUs, as he had been earlier that morning in the _Salmon Bay Café_. Flanking him were the two armed men who'd escorted Rachael out of her cell. "Here's Ms. Bigallo, alive and well, standing right in front of you. Are you ready to talk now?"

"Yes," was all Maggie said.

Galahad, as always boyish and handsome, took the chair across the table from Maggie. The two goons remained standing.

"Good. Now, Ms. Bigallo called me to say that you had critical information in the case of Joanna Church's murder, and that this information can only be relayed to me in person. And then you show up and start a gunfight before anyone's had a chance to even open their mouths. What the hell is going on here, Maggie? You were almost killed. Ms. Bigallo, for her part, was, too. Was that really your plan? To shoot away your troubles? These men are the US Coast Guard," Galahad said, nodding back at the two men with rifles. "Members of the Armed Forces of the United States. You couldn't have possibly thought you'd win in a gunfight with these guys, did you?"

"No," Maggie shook her head vigorously. "No, and I had no idea what Gandalf was planning. As you know, I came aboard without a firearm, I think that speaks volumes for my intentions, Special Agent."

"Mmm," Galahad shrugged.

"No, I kept our appointment this morning with every intention of delivering on the promise that Rachael made to you on the phone: the identity of the murderer of Joanna Church, or Rebbecca Oldrich, or whatever her name eventually turns out to actually be."

"Well?"

"But I did you one better, Agent, I brought you the murderer himself."

Special Agent Galahad shifted in his seat, taken aback. He glanced at Rachael, attempting to read something in her expression. "The dead man? He killed the girl?"

"Yes," Maggie nodded. She attempted to emote with her hands, forgetting they were shackled to the table. "But something went wrong, he must have guessed my intentions. It was my fault for not disarming him before we arrived. But such a thing isn't done aboard the Raft, you understand. If I'd have asked for his gun, he'd have certainly known what I was attempting to do."

"But he came anyway?"

"I told him it was the only hope of saving the Raft. And I meant it. Handing over Meerkat's murderer was the only hope we had of convincing you to back down from this reckless blockade. And Gandalf's death hasn't changed that."

"So you deliver me another corpse?"

"Sadly, yes. Though that was not my intention."

"And this is going to make the United States Government back down? Turn tail and run? From the combined might of a floating hippie commune?" Kid Galahad's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"It will, once I tell you _why_ Gandalf killed Joanna Church," Maggie said calmly, looking down and fidgeting with the cuffs on her wrists.

"Really?" Galahad said after a pause. He could see through Maggie's transparent bluff.

At least he thought he could. Maggie wasn't about to back down. "Yes. And once I explain this whole grizzly affair, in front of a member of the free press mind you, I think you're going to be more receptive to making peace with a certain floating hippie commune."

"Really?" Galahad said again, chuckling. But this time his bravado wasn't quite so polished. Something about Maggie's tone had him worried. "Then why don't you enlighten us all," he said. Maggie opened her mouth to begin, but Galahad interpreted. "But let me assure you, Ms. Straight, there will be no deals."

"We'll see, Special Agent," Maggie said.

"Yes, we'll see," Galahad repeated back, leaning back in his chair.

Chapter 29

"I guess it will come as a surprise to no one when I say that Meerkat had her issues. A misspent youth, problems with drugs and alcohol. Life with Horus the Brontosaurus exasperated all Meerkat's demons. Horus was hardly an upstanding member of the community, even one as loosely knit and hands off as the Raft.

"It was the birth of Firecracker to her best friend Tea Queen that cast the harsh light of reality on Meerkat's lifestyle. Tea Queen and Rocket had to clean up their acts with a baby on the way and no means to care for it other than taking responsibility for themselves. And clean up their acts they did. They dropped the drugs and the booze and focused their attention on making a living with what few skills their wasted lives had afforded them.

"What did Meerkat have? A hangover? Horus? And Tea Queen had a perfect little baby. I suspect that the first time Meerkat laid eyes on that little man, her resolve to clean up her act became iron.

"But for Meerkat, quitting wasn't going to be just about kicking the junk. No, she was in far too deep. Up over her head, if you know what I mean. If she was going to get clean, it would mean going ashore. Rehab, the whole nine yards. A facility. And I assume that's what she did. She told Horus some lie – or perhaps she didn't even bother. In the end, what did Horus really care?

"Well, rehab would mean two weeks of pain and boredom. But it served its purpose and Meerkat shook at least some of her demons. But word must have gotten out about her presence onshore. Perhaps someone at the facility informed the police about a Rafter in their midst? Perhaps it was all a coincidence? Anyway, soon enough, the law came calling for Meerkat, holding a number of outstanding warrants for her arrest. Her past had finally caught up with her – the partying and the drugs, her life before the Raft. A car accident. A young couple killed. It was the reason for Meerkat's escape to the Raft: to avoid the consequences of her actions. But sober Meerkat was ready to pay the price for her past sins. Pay the price in full.

"But the police had other ideas. Her connection to Horus made her useful. She lived with him, shared a boat. She could feed them information on his operation, his drug smuggling, shipments down from Canada. A few dates and times of deliveries and maybe the police could speak to the prosecutors, work out some sort of clemency deal. All Meerkat would have to do was go back to the Raft and keep an eye on Horus. Report back on what she saw.

"So that's what she did. But she was nervous. After a two-week absence she knew she'd need a cover, an excuse to tell Horus. Maybe he didn't care why she left, but he'd certainly care why she came back. If Horus knew she'd been in rehab, he might grow suspicious, guess that she'd been approached by the cops, but if she'd gone ashore for some other reason, something with a financial incentive, then maybe Horus would be a little more forgiving. How she came up with the surrogate mother story, I don't know, but it doesn't take too much imagination to make a guess. Tea Queen with her perfect little baby, and Meerkat with a gut full of nothing. Maybe it just started out as wishful thinking, a hedge against the off chance that Meerkat might actually someday get pregnant. I could believe that all she really wanted from her life after getting clean was a perfect little baby of her own.

"But not with Horus. The dream that someone rich and powerful was paying her to make a baby – might potentially swoop down and whisk her away – the idea might have appealed to Meerkat.

"Of course, such a fantasy required Meerkat to return to Horus with something more tangible that just a tall tale. She'd need money and she'd need it quick. Waiting three months and filling out two dozen authorization forms in triplicate with the dryfoot cops wasn't going to cut it. Meerkat needed greenbacks and she needed them on demand. So she went to the richest person she knew: Gandalf.

"She, of course, didn't tell Gandalf the whole truth. That she'd been at rehab was enough, Gandalf might panic if he knew that Meerkat was working with the police. And Gandalf was happy to extend a helping hand to a soul in need. I imagine he initially gave her the money out of the goodness of his heart – he was like that. When the idea of wrapping the Senator up into the whole affair came to him, I don't know. But knowing him, I imagine it came later.

"And so the wheels of the plot began to turn: the police had their mole, Meerkat was back on the Raft, she had her excuse to cover for her absence, and she only owed Gandalf a small favor. A favor he would call in to have Meerkat tell just one more little lie. What caused the wheels to strip their gears, I don't know. But very quickly, things began to spiral horribly out of control. Nothing aboard the Raft ever stays as it is. Not for long. The Raft is a dynamic, shifting landscape, always moving. Everyone had a string attached to Meerkat and were pulling her this way and that. Perhaps it was inevitable that Meerkat would end up bobbing in the tide.

"Dealing with the dryfoot authorities required Meerkat to make an excuse to return to dryland. Her surrogacy story here probably helped her a lot. Pregnancy would require her to return to shore often for treatments and tests. Horus, seeing the color of the money Meerkat was supposedly bringing back from the Senator, sent her to shore happily with his shipments. One, two dozen times this cover worked. But soon, Horus must have grown weary of the story, perhaps after Meerkat showed no signs of pregnancy? Perhaps he began to have second thoughts about his girlfriend getting knocked up by another man? Regardless, Meerkat's story need to shift to keep Horus curious – ratchet up the incentives so Horus would keep allowing her to go ashore.

"I guarantee that it was Gandalf who suggested implicating Senator Hadian in a surrogacy scam, shifting the focus from pregnancy to sex scandal. Gandalf must have watched the deliberations of the House Ways and Means Committee with great interest. He knew that the new Income Tax Bill proposed would all but destroy the loopholes that kept the Raft afloat. Gandalf was too smart to believe that he could keep the Raft together forever on such technicalities, but his campaign to raise the legitimate profile of the Raft had only just begun. He was courting such corporations as Arrowsoft, hoping to encourage them to open campuses, tax exempt, aboard the Raft. If he could delay the new Tax Code for a few months, perhaps he could firm up a deal to pull some powerful, politically connected muscle into the Raft's corner.

"Gandalf had only one serious target, the most hated man aboard the Raft, or anywhere else in liberal America, for his attempt to amend the Constitution a 28th time: Senator Hadian. Chairman of the Senate's Finance Committee. Should the squeaky clean Senator find himself caught up in an embarrassing scandal, however imaginary, it'd pull time and attention away from the Finance Committee's day-to-day operations. The new Tax Bill wouldn't be the first piece of legislation to get lost in the US Senate, and certainly not that last.

"So, Gandalf coached Meerkat to feed misinformation to Horus. He converted the surrogacy story into one of blackmail. He kept feeding Meerkat greenbacks, which she'd in turn give to Horus, telling him the Senator was now trying to make a baby with Meerkat in the old-fashioned style. Any objections Horus might have had would quickly fade in the sanitizing like of cold hard cash. The idea that Horus had a powerful US Senator on the hook would keep him salivating. Curious.

"Little did Gandalf know, he was feeding cash to Meerkat so she could feed information to the dryfoot cops...

"Of course, the whole plan – for everyone, Gandalf, Meerkat, the cops – hinged on Horus's eventual arrest. Meerkat knew she couldn't pretend she was making a baby with a US Senator forever. Eventually, her phantom pregnancy would have to start to show some physical reality. And Gandalf's smear campaign against the Senator required some sort of public forum in which to be exposed. Such as the witness stand of a courtroom.

"The clock was ticking away. Days and weeks passed, the Senate vote was nearing. But the dryfoot cops were sitting on their hands. Maybe they didn't have enough evidence to arrest Horus? Maybe they hadn't lucked out and caught him or one of his deliveries? Horus was always careful, using friends like Chemical to do his bag work. Or perhaps they'd just lost interest, turned their attention to another case? Whatever the reason, the sand in Meerkat's hourglass was quickly running out.

"Left with no baby and no bump in her belly, Meerkat must have panicked and decided it was time to cut her losses. She was going to flee to dryland, ditch Horus, ditch Gandalf, ditch the Raft. She'd dodge the dryfoot cops and go to ground somewhere onshore. How Gandalf learned of this, I'm not sure. Perhaps he never did, perhaps Meerkat came for one last chunk of cash under some pretense that the cops were closing in on Horus. Perhaps Gandalf, all on his own, also decided to cut his losses. With so much invested in Meerkat and so little to show for it, maybe Gandalf realized there was more than one way to get Horus arrested. If the dryfoot cops wouldn't pick him up for smuggling, perhaps they'd arrested him for the murder of his girlfriend?

"With that idea in his head, it was only a matter of lying in wait for Meerkat. Catching her on her own, out in open water, late at night, wouldn't be hard. Meerkat trusted him, he was her only ally. He could get as close as he liked and Meerkat would never expect a thing. There'd be no one to see him do it, no one would ever suspect...

"And I, for my part, did my duty. When word reached me that Meerkat was dead, I moved to arrest Horus. But Gandalf didn't foresee the seismic shock that Meerkat's death would detonate. When Horus showed up at the Senator's home with a gun, Gandalf must have realized the situation was spiraling out of control. When you, Special Agent, showed up on his boat with the IRS in tow, Gandalf came to understand that he'd totally lost control of the situation.

"Gandalf had no idea that he'd just murdered a police informant. Perhaps that nugget of information might have stayed his hand. But the tsunami that hit the waterfront of Seattle yesterday morning – with a police informer washing up dead on the beach – bounced off the shore and washed back and hit the Raft.

"You can, Special Agent, speak more accurately to the intricate dance of 'Cover Your Ass' you and the Seattle Police were performing. I'm sure you did exactly what any self-respecting professional bureaucrat would do in a situation like this: bury the problem. Hide it under layer upon layer of misdirection. If the Raft sank into the Puget Sound today, would anybody be the wiser to exactly what mistakes you'd made? No. After all, sinking the Raft was a task long overdue, and with the political cover that the Senator would now be more than happy to offer, in exchange for the courtesy of his name never appearing in any formal charges...

"So, there you have it, Special Agent. You have your killer, you have your motive, and you have complicity in the whole plot, running all the way up from the Seattle PD to the Senator himself. Gandalf is lying dead on the deck above us, his debts paid in full. There is no legal system that can extract from him one more ounce of retribution. But you, Special Agent... and the Senator. You still have a lot to lose, should the events of the last few days leak out..."

Chapter 30

"That's it?" Special Agent Galahad said, shaking himself back to attention. "That's all you have to offer? In exchange for your precious Raft? Blackmail?"

"No, no... one more thing," Maggie smiled.

"This better be good..."

"It is: Gandalf isn't dead," Maggie said flatly.

"What?" Galahad replied in surprise.

"Err, Maggie..." Rachael hedged.

"No, there was an exchange of gunshots, but no one was hurt. Gandalf is, at this moment, in custody. Charged with the murder of Joanna Church. In a few minutes, you're going to uncuff me and I'm going to return to the Raft and let everyone know what transpired. Gandalf is guilty of Meerkat's death, and I turned him over to the authorities.

"And a good thing, too. If Gandalf had been senselessly cut down by a government bullet... well, the Rafters would all be beside themselves with bloodthirsty rage. They might arm themselves, then might forget about running your blockade and attack it. Head on. That would be unthinkable, of course. Six hundred – a thousand Rafters, armed to the teeth, with years of experience in maneuvering between small vessels, against... what, Special Agent? Two-hundred green Coast Guard recruits? With two or three hours of weapons training apiece? A shame you don't have any of the hardened Iraq War types left, but so few people go career military nowadays. What do you have? Ten, fifteen NCOs with any experience." Maggie nodded at the two goons guarding the doorway. "Up against a small army of men and women who've slept every night for the last decade with a gun under their bunks. Spent weekends training for just this sort of conflict against just this kind of foe. Yeah, a small army of men and women with little to nothing left to lose, fighting for survival, fighting for their way of life, fighting for their friends and family."

Special Agent Galahad cleared his throat. He uncrossed his legs and crossed them the opposite way.

"No, I think for all concerned it would be best that I returned to the Raft and informed them all of Gandalf's guilt. No mention of Meerkat being a police informant, of course, and no mention of the Senator. No mention of really very much of anything at all, truth be told. The fact that a suitable resolution to Meerkat's murder has convinced the Coast Guard to allow the Raft free passage to attend the Freaky Kon-Tikis will speak volumes."

Maggie cleared her throat, giving everyone in attendance a chance to keep up. "After the races, of course, after the holiday, there'll be a need to decide on a new leader. Someone with closer ties to the dryland, someone who can negotiate with the dryfoots. Someone with a solid reputation on both land and water."

"Someone like you?" Galahad grinned. He hadn't fallen behind.

"Exactly," Maggie said without mirth. "The old Gray Beard council is a sexist anachronism. If the Raft is to survive, it will have to change. The Raft can no longer serve as a shelter for all the mainland's thugs and killers. The Raft has to grow, blossom into a vibrant community. But it can't grow in a vacuum.

"The Raft might be detached, but it is wholly dependent on the mainland. So many Rafters make their livings working for dryfoot companies, we're dependent on the mainland for food and resources. The days when we can pretend we're a self-sufficient entity are over. We have to extend the hand of friendship to the mainstream world, begin to reintegrate with society. And the first step down that road will be acknowledging the burden the Raft exerts on the communities that surround it – how our actions affect those that border the Raft. What small recompense that can be made financially to alleviate this burden the Raft imposes..."

Maggie paused again, let her words sink in. Kid Galahad sat across from her, watching her intently. He was hard to read, both bemused and concerned.

"There will have to be a presence," he finally said. "Aboard the Raft. Authority."

"No," Maggie replied flatly. "Not in the beginning. It would be too provocative."

"Then, at least a census. Really... legal names."

"Perhaps," Maggie nodded.

"Perhaps? That's the best you can do?"

"I'm not the leader of the Raft, Special Agent. Not yet."

"And all this talk about the Senator? And Meerkat's connections..."

"Forgotten. Right, Rachael?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Rachael said on cue. It was the correct time to appear bewildered. Luckily, she genuinely was.

"And if I say no?" Galahad crossed his arms.

"You want to risk a conflict with the Raft?"

"I was ready to ten minutes ago." Galahad watched Maggie through half-closed eyelids.

"You were ready to engage in a fight that you might win. But there's no winning this fight, Special Agent, I'm sure you're intelligent enough to see that. Let me go free and you'll have peace, a foothold in the administration of the Raft, all your skeletons quietly locked away in the proverbial closet, and nothing more to do for the rest of the day but to enjoy the Kon-Tiki Races. Keep me cuffed up here and what will you get? An all-out shooting war? More bodies in the Puget Sound? Meerkat's murder still unsolved, and the pressing need to cover your involvement in an increasingly botched investigation? No, Special Agent, you're too smart to start a fight that you can't win."

Galahad sat in silence. Possibly some inner conflict was raging inside him, but externally he seemed almost serene.

"It all begins when you let me go," Maggie said, tugging on her shackled wrists, showing the shiny steel cuffs to Galahad.

Chapter 31

"I'll need Gandalf's gun," Maggie said as she rubbed at her wrists and limped up a steep flight of stairs. In all the ruckus, one of the seamen had stomped on her bare foot.

"Absolutely not," Galahad said adamantly.

"I'll need the pistol, or none of this will work. You can keep the bullets."

"What is it with Rafters and their guns?"

"Do I get the hog leg?"

"Alright, alright," Galahad shook his head in resignation. He waved a hand at one of the armed sailors following them, who peeled off. "I hope I'm not going to regret cooperating with you, Ms. Straight."

"Now that we're colluding, you can call me Maggie."

"Maggie. You're trying to juggle an awful lot of balls at once, are you sure you can handle it?"

"You'll have to trust me, Special Agent."

"And if there's any gunfire, my men will respond..."

"Just tell them not to shoot unless shot at, and we'll all live to see another day."

Maggie hobbled out onto the deck, back into the cold, rainy Puget Sound morning. The fog was thinning and the mass of congregated Raft vessels south of the blockade had grown to an almost uncountable size.

Ships of all shapes and sizes were turning this way and that, adrift in the current. The people aboard the boats appeared as little black dots from Maggie's high perch, but she was sure each and every pair of eyes would be watching her, waiting for the _Soft Cell_ to pull away from the gargantuan _James._ Everything rested on her shoulders now, the whole deal. How things played out in the next ten minutes would decide if a dozen people lived or died.

Maggie groaned. She was still hungover. She'd been smacked around and thrown up against bulkheads. She'd been talking nonstop for the last hour, making up most everything she was saying. She might have outwardly appeared calm and collected, but inside she was a whimpering mess. She wanted to climb aboard the _Soft Cell_ and curl up in her warm bunk, let the day play out as it would.

But she knew that hiding wasn't even remotely an option. She had a plan – a sort of plan, a fly-by-wire, fill-in-the-big-details-later kind of plan – and she had to stick to it.

The sailors with their body armor and black rifles escorted Rachael and Maggie to the rope ladder dangling down to the _Soft Cell._

Gandalf's blood still stained the deck. His body was gone, but the red pool mixing with the dripping rain remained where he'd fallen.

"What do we do with him?" Galahad said, noticing Maggie and Rachael looking down at the pool.

"You have him in custody, remember? Keep him on ice. Then in a few days or a week, when everything has calmed down, schedule a suitably harrowing prison cell hanging. No one will ask too many questions. I'll make sure of that."

"Well, Maggie." Special Agent Galahad held out a hand. "It's been interesting."

Maggie took his hand and shook it. "Thank you."

"You know, if any of this blows back," Galahad kept shaking her hand, long after Maggie tried to pull her hand away, "I'll deny everything. This conversation never happened."

"Of course, Special Agent." Galahad finally let go of Maggie's palm. "I'd expect nothing less." A seaman in body armor came jogging up to Galahad's shoulder. He held out a ziplock bag containing a large revolver, which Galahad took. He held it out to Maggie, who accepted it. "Thank you, again," Maggie said and she turned, pulling herself wearily over the gunwale. She started down the rope ladder, holding the ziplock bag in between her teeth.

"Ms. Bigallo," Galahad nodded at Rachael. "Our apologies for the inconvenience." Rachael tried to smile, realizing she was showing her dried, bloody teeth, and followed Maggie over the gunwale.

They descended slowly, the rope ladder dancing in the breeze. The _Soft Cell_ was waiting at the ladder's bottom, bouncing on the waves. As soon as Maggie's bare toes touched the deck, she collapsed heavily across the roof of the cabin and groaned in pain.

"Untie the mooring lines, would you?" Maggie asked Rachael. Rachael had only a limited comprehension of what that meant, but she felt the need to help out in any capacity that she could. She found the bow line and unraveled it from the cleat in the side of the larger vessel. She did the same from the stern line. The _Soft Cell_ bobbed slowly away from the mighty _Joshua James._ Drifting.

"I can't believe it, it just doesn't seem real," Rachael said, coiling the mooring lines away as she'd seen Maggie do many times.

"What's that?" Maggie groaned.

"Everything. Gandalf's dead. He murdered Meerkat."

"Oh, yes..."

"And now you have to go back and tell everyone... tell Tiger Print..."

"Yes, as to that..." Maggie rolled off the cabin roof and swung her bare feet down into the cockpit. "Let's keep that between the two of us for now, okay?"

"What?" Rachael said, confused. "You told Galahad -"

"I told Galahad whatever I thought he'd believe. If we sail back over there now and start talking a whole hell of a lot of nonsense about Gandalf and Meerkat... well, best just to let that lie for the time being."

"But if we go back without Gandalf, people are going to talk."

"You're right," Maggie said, flipping switches on her control panel. The _Soft Cell_ engine came to life and she turned the helm hard over, bringing the prow about. "So, we'd better not sail back."

"Then what are we going to do?" Rachael looked back to the mass of the Raft, milling in the fog to the south.

"Lead by example," Maggie said, pointing the bow towards the Raft and opening the throttle.

"Oh, I don't like the sound of that," Rachael worried.

"No, neither do I. But if the Rafters see one craft clear the blockade, they'll be apt to follow. It's just a question of who's going to run the blockade first."

Maggie kept a southerly course until her electric inboard had brought them almost equidistant from the _Joshua James_ and the Raft. She cut the motor, turned the helm and brought the bow around to the north. Then, still limping, she began to winch down her sails.

"Lets just hope that Galahad keeps his word. 'Cause if that thing," Maggie pointed at the 57mm Bofers on the foredeck of the _James_ , "goes off, it'll be lights out for both of us."

"Maggie, are you sure about this?"

"No, not really."

Rachael turned and fixed Maggie with an angry look. "Maggie, for once could you lie to me and tell me that you have everything under control?!"

"Don't worry, Rachael." Maggie had the mainsail in place and the _Soft Cell_ was catching a good measure of the choppy breeze. "I got this. Just sit back and relax."

"Never mind." Rachael turned back to watch the decks of the Coast Guard ships. "You're a terrible liar."

"Yeah, sorry." Maggie climbed back behind the helm. The _Soft Cell_ was charging forward, Maggie wrestled with the tiller to keep the craft pointed between the two largest ships in the blockade. "Thanks again, Rachael. Thanks again for your help. I'm sorry I got you into all this trouble."

"You owe me a trip to the dentist," Rachael said, flashing a bloody sneer back at Maggie.

"Send me the bill," Maggie said, her eyes fixed on the high decks of the two ships that were rapidly approaching. Sailors were charging back and forth, rifle barrels pointing over the sides. There were orders being yelled, lost in the thunder of the wind in the sails. Rachael climbed down from her perch on the deck and slipped down into the relative safety of the companionway. Only her head popped up cautiously, her red hair snapping in the breeze. They were ten yards out now, five, four, three...

The _Soft Cell_ was cutting through the water at almost a dozen knots as it cleared between the two prows of the giant vessels. No one fired, the massive cannon on the foredeck of the _James_ remained silent. The seamen on the decks of the ships kept their weapons leveled, but they watched as Maggie steered her ship deftly through the gap between the blockading boats. The _Soft Cell_ didn't slow, the whole of the Puget Sound was now clear in front of them, but Maggie stole a glance back at the milling Raft.

"We made it!" Rachael cheered. She leapt up from her hiding place and jumped happily up and down in the tight cockpit. She embraced Maggie, but Maggie wasn't yet celebrating. She was watching the Raft recede behind them, vanishing into the mist of the cold morning.

As ten yards turned into fifty, and fifty turned into a hundred, Maggie watched the gap between the two large ships. The sight of the Raft was gone, lost in the haze, but the open water between it and the blockade could still be observed.

"Come on, you idiots, come on..." Maggie egged. She turned, checking her course, then turned back to the stern.

Then she caught sight of one small dot emerging from the fog.

"There, there!" Maggie cheered. "One, at least." As the _Soft Cell_ was pulling away, even the ships of the blockade were beginning to disappear in the gloom. But one ship had definitely pulled away from the flotilla and moved for the line of Coast Guard ships. As Rachael and Maggie watched, the outlines of more craft began to appear in the gray. Larger ships, moving for the blockade. One was most certainly the _Kalakala_. "They're doing it, they're coming!" Maggie hooted.

They cheered, jumped with joy and held each other. As they watched, the first sailing dinghy broke through the blockade line, unmolested by the crews aboard the government ships. Craft after craft began to thread through the gaps between the cutters and the motor lifeboats, breaking out onto the open water north of the blockade.

The weapons of the Coast Guard ships sat silent. As more and more craft made it clear of the deadline, the party across the expanse of the Raft seemed to rapidly reboot. The sound of music echoed off the choppy water, mixing with the sound of laughing, singing Rafters.

They'd made it, they were through. The Freaky Kon-Tikis lay ahead. The big bad government was behind them. Nothing to do now but celebrate. The smaller ships drifted in and out of the larger ones, as if dancing. With a strong tailwind, there was nothing to do but tie off the tiller and crack open a beer.

Maggie breathed a large, well deserved sigh of relief. As many of the smaller vessels in the Raft caught up and overtook the _Soft Cell_ , Maggie handed off the helm to Rachael and dropped heavily onto one of the cockpit's benches. She lifted up her sore foot and stretched it out on the bench, leaning back and letting out a groan.

"You did it!" Rachael congratulated. "You did it, they're all getting through. Kid Galahad kept his word."

"Mmm," Maggie moaned, her eyes closed.

"What? Mmm? What? I hate that 'Mmm'" Rachael said, keeping both hands on the helm.

"Well, we still have the catching of Meerkat's murderer to do," Maggie said dreamily.

Rachael opened her mouth to speak, but the sight of the envelope Gandalf had left on the control panel held her tongue. She picked up the envelope and felt its weight. There was certainly something heavy inside. She read the messy scrawl on the face of the envelope. "Maggie" it read.

"I think Gandalf left you a parting gift," Rachael said, holding out the envelope. Maggie painfully opened her eyes and grunted.

Seeing the envelope, she quickly shot up erect.

#

"Then Gandalf... he didn't kill Meerkat?" Rachael said in a gloomy voice. It had made so much sense, at least the way Maggie had explained it to Galahad. To think that the murderer still remained undiscovered... it made Rachael's heart sink.

"Mmm," Maggie hummed, holding out the envelope before her.

"Well, did he or didn't he?" Rachael prodded.

"Oh, well, anything in this world is possible..." Maggie looked up from her prize. "But, no, I doubt it."

"Then everything you told Galahad, that was all just hot air?"

"No, no," Maggie corrected, still studying the white envelope. "I mean, Gandalf's fingerprints are all over the Senator Hadian hatchet job. But hurt Meerkat?" she snickered. "No."

"Then who?" Rachael exhaled in frustration.

That damned envelope, Rachael wanted to smack it out of Maggie's hand. Maggie turned it over in her hands, studying its plain white exterior. Why didn't she just open it? It was fully consuming Maggie's attention. She was paying Rachael no heed.

"Who?" Rachael said, snatching the envelope out of Maggie's grasp. Using her knee to steady the helm, she rapidly tore the envelope's end off and tipped the opened container forward into Maggie's lap. A ridiculously over-sized, wide, flat key fell out of the envelope.

"Ah," was Maggie's only response.

"What's that?" Rachael queried, looking into the crevice of the opened envelope for perhaps an explanatory note.

"A large key," Maggie replied.

"To what?"

"A large door?" Maggie smirked.

Rachael deflated. Was Maggie being intentionally obtuse? "Maggie..."

"Sorry," Maggie apologized, picking up the key and looking it over. Rachael leaned forward away from the helm and examined it as Maggie turned it in the light.

"Why would Gandalf leave it for you?"

"Because he wanted to make sure the dryfoots didn't get their hands on it. Or anyone else on the Raft, for that matter. No, this key was important to Gandalf. Or rather, what's behind the door that it unlocks was important to Gandalf."

"The treasure room!" Rachael realized, breathless. "Aboard the _Kalakala_!"

"Mmm," Maggie answered.

"All that gold!"

"Yes," Maggie said, flipping the key over in her palm. She stood up and squirreled away the large key in her jeans pocket. "But more importantly, the Exchange that it backs."

"Gandalf left it to you."

"Maybe," Maggie shrugged. "Maybe."

"Are you going to take over command of the Raft?" Rachael asked from behind the helm. "Like you told the Kid?"

"Well, with this," Maggie tapped her pocket. "And this," Maggie leaned forward, picked up Gandalf's large revolver, still in its evidence bag. She tore open the plastic. "I might have a shot."

With the gun out in the fresh air, Maggie half-cocked the hammer, opened the loading gate, twirled the cylinder, confirmed that the pistol was unloaded and let the hammer fall forward. Almost as an afterthought, she twirled the pistol once around by its trigger guard, catching it again by the handle and tucking it away securely down the front of her jeans. "We need to call a council. Talk to the Gray Beards."

"With that gun?" Rachael asked. "Conversations that need firearms haven't historically turned out so well."

"It's not just a gun, Rachael, it's Gandalf's gun." Maggie said with a solemnity that Rachael didn't quiet comprehend.

"What is it with you people and your guns?" Rachael repeated Galahad's question, half in jest.

Chapter 32

The Freaky Kon-Tikis were well underway as the _Soft Cell_ sailed into the vicinity of Friday Harbor.

Maggie intentionally lagged back, letting the vast body of Raft vessels race past her in the warming, clearing afternoon weather. She was in no hurry, there was no prize for reaching the Kon-Tikis before everyone else, and much to lose should the news of Gandalf's absence leak out.

Maggie furled the sails and went below and made lunch. Or rather breakfast. She cut some two-day-old bread and made French toast in an iron skillet on the impossibly small galley cook top. She brewed coffee in a rusty percolator next to the frying pan as she hobbled back and forth on her injured foot. Rachael watched from the companionway, sitting on the threshold, her feet handing down into the cabin. After all the events of the morning, she was finally hungry. Ravenous. She hardly felt seasick at all, though the _Soft Cell_ was aggressively bobbing on the wakes of the passing Raft.

"Sit, eat," Maggie commanded, transferring French toast from skillet to plates.

Rachael did as instructed, quickly leaping down from the companionway, bellying up to the galley table and gulping down the first helping of toast with a generous amount of syrup. As a second batch sizzled in the pan, Maggie poured out two half-full cups of coffee and placed them on the rocking table.

Rachael ate and drank and only paused to allow Maggie to spatula another piece of toast onto her plate. She felt revitalized, the thumping in her head subsided as the rush of caffeine and sugar surged through her body.

The cooking finished, Maggie dropped herself down onto the galley bench with a pained sigh. She favored her injured foot, extending her leg out the length of the unoccupied bench, pointing the toes at Rachael. Maggie turned her attention to her breakfast as Rachael finished up the last of hers.

Wiping syrup and dried blood from her mouth, Rachael focused in on Maggie's bare foot. Tentatively, she reached out a finger and touched the leathery ball of the foot. Maggie responded with an agonized howl.

"I think you might have broken something," Rachael said, trying to look sympathetic.

"Goddamn jackbooted goon landed on it with all his weight," Maggie said, returning to her food.

"You should have it looked at."

"I will," Maggie said around a mouthful of toast. "The Sawbones will be at the Races along with everyone else. But first thing's first." Maggie gulped down the last of her breakfast and washed it down with the last of the coffee.

"At lesat let me bandage it up," Rachael offered.

"I'll live," Maggie said, scooting off the end of the galley bench.

The sound of revelry floated down through the open companionway. Maggie hopped the length of the cabin, and winced her way back up the short ladder and out into the _Soft Cell's_ cockpit. Rachael followed, trying to pour what small dribble of coffee was left out of the percolator.

Back out in the fresh air, Maggie inspected the gauges on the console, checking the charge left in her batteries.

"Have you thought about what you're going to write?" Maggie said conversationally. "When you get back to dryland? About all this?"

Rachael, who'd taken her usual spot on a cockpit bench, shot up in shock. "Oh God!" She suddenly remember she had a job – a real day job. "What _am_ I going to write about?"

Maggie laughed. "You came out here to write about the Raft, correct? Well, you can still write about that."

"Yes, but half of what I've learned turned out not to be true, and the other half, if I write about it, will get me fired... or worse... a one-way ticket to Guantanamo Bay..."

"Then quit," Maggie said without emotion. "Write what you want. Start your own newspaper. Sell up and buy a boat. The Raft has never had a press, maybe it's about time it grew up and acquired one."

"Maggie..."

"Just think about it." Maggie shot Rachael a glance, playing off the comment with an amused shrug. "You have to admit that life aboard the Raft is exciting."

"Ugh," Rachael collapsed back against the bench cushion. "I'm seasick, my teeth are loose, I'm hungover and worried sick. This is exciting?"

"You've got to admit, I know how to show a girl a good time."

"Next time you have a party, count me out."

"Well, how about you give the Raft one more chance? I know today so far has not exactly seen the Raft at its best. But it's early yet." Maggie pointed forward into the empty waters before the _Soft Cell_. "Maybe there's a chance for you to see the Raft in a better light. The Kon-Tiki Races... they can be something else."

Rachael looked up from her bench and gave Maggie a warm smile. Even after everything that had happened, Maggie was still attempting to boost the Raft. Rachael couldn't summon up the strength to disappoint her. Even though Rachael was sick to her stomach with boats and guns and open water and rainy Northwest mornings, and wanted nothing more than to get back to dryland and never set foot off shore ever again, she smiled and lied to Maggie. "Well, I promise to keep an open mind," she said.

"That's all I can ask." Maggie returned Rachael's smile.

#

Maggie's prophecy was quickly fulfilled as she powered up the _Soft Cell_ 's onboard electronics and fell in line with the ever-gathering herd of small craft: The Freaky Kon-Tikis sure were something else.

The open water near Friday Harbor brimmed from shore to shore with an immense flotilla. Much of the Raft had again fabricated itself into an artificial island, with the _Kalakala_ somewhere near its core. But for the Races, the Raft had coalesced around a two-hundred-yard stretch of open water that constituted the playing for the Freaky Kon-Tikis.

Late to the party, Maggie cut her engine and floated the _Soft Cell_ into place, lashing up to the outer rim of the makeshift structure. Even before she'd had a chance to position her bumpers or secure her sails, a dozen other craft were already lashing into place around her. Like iron filings drawn to a powerful magnet, the _Soft Cell_ was quickly packed away tightly into the expanding mass of vessels.

Soon, merrymakers were stumbling across the deck, making for the open water at the center of the Raft. They were happy, halfway drunk and laughing and stumbling from boat to boat. Anyone who caught sight of Maggie called out her name and applauded. She was a hero once again. Cheers of "Maggie the Blockade Buster" rose up. Maggie smiled and waved.

Rachael and Maggie moved slowly across decks, limping and picking their footholds carefully. They were moving towards the large outline of the _Kalakala_ close to the center of the Raft.

The Races were already underway, a strange array of craft gathered at one end of the long cut of water nested at the center of the artificial island. More were arriving through a thin channel, kept open to the north for contestants. Tiny strangle craft, only large enough to hold one person, bobbed on the waves.

"It always starts with the youth devision," Maggie said as they were climbing down off the bow of an eighty-foot pleasure yacht to the stern of an old fishing trawler. Maggie had caught sight of Rachael watching the Race setup, shielding her eyes against the growing warmth of the sun. "The under fourteens. That's how it all started, you know, so they always have the honor of the first race."

"Race?" Rachael watched as the ridiculous, patently handmade craft moved to form some sort of straight line. It shamed her to admit that she'd paid no attention to the Kon-Tiki festival from onshore, though she knew of its existence. It had always seemed so foreign and so remote, though it took place no more than fifty miles from her office.

"Man-powered boat races. That's how it began. The _Ahab_ , that's our school ship, the students had a science project. Studying energy or momentum or something. Build a man-powered craft. It was only after school kicked out for the summer that the kids got the idea to race them. I don't remember who won. But the whole thing took off from there. Rafters like nothing better than an engineering challenge. Other kids got into the act the next years, then the adults, then the dryfoot sponsors and the news broadcasters. But at its core, it's still really about kids and their pedal boats. They go first. Four times around the track, one full mile. Winner takes all. Later, there's the divisions for the adults, some pedal-powered, some more exotic. Solar is always fun, at least when there's enough sun to make it go. Steam is always interesting. And of course, after dark it's all rocket powered."

"Rockets?" Rachael said with alarm.

"Yeah, that's a real crowd pleaser." They'd cleared the deck of the fishing trawler and climbed over to a three-mast sailing sloop that abutted the _Kalakala._ "But you got to be well liquored up before you voluntarily climb into one of those machines."

"I had no idea," Rachael said. There was a crack of a starter's pistol and the thin, haphazard line of rickety craft stuttered forward from the starting line. As if it were a comic attempt to look entirely unlike a boat race, the contestants in the youth pedal boats made slow going of making a lap. One boat sprang a leak and listed dangerously to its port. Two others appeared to lose control of their rudders and began to circle in a tight loop. Three craft, though, attempted to make a real race of it, rapidly – well, at least with a great show of churning water – making a full circle of the open patch of water at the center of the Kon-Tikis.

"As you might guess," Maggie sighed, pausing to watch the start of the race. "The _Ahab_ isn't exactly a magnet engineering school." The pedal boat that had sprung a leak sank completely underwater. A pair of teenagers in orange life vests paddled a canoe out into the open water to rescue the pilot. "But God love them, they try."

Maggie didn't wait to find out the winner. She turned and took a gangplank down off the large sailing ship and onto the car deck of the old ferry. All around, from every vessel, Rafters had gathered to watch the race, cheering. Thousands were watching the comedy unfold on the water with breathless anticipation. The Raft was loving it, this was their holiday. Rachael could feel the electricity in the air. This was the Raft's Fourth of July, its Christmas and its Easter, all wrapped up into one: The Freaky Kon-Tikis, the Raft kids' soapbox boat races. Somehow, it fit so perfectly.

Rachael smiled. Maybe a little bit of her now understood why the Rafters were so dead set on risking their lives to get here, unwilling to miss even a moment of the first race of the day. If Galahad had fully comprehended what his blockade was attempting to keep the Raft from, maybe he wouldn't have attempted it. It was hard to say.

Oh God, Gandalf, Rachael remembered, looking off down the gangplank after the hobbling Maggie.

Tiger Print. She didn't know.

Chapter 33

"Gandalf is dead," Maggie said, tossing the large Colt revolver down on the counter before the gathered Gray Beards.

While Maggie addressed the council, Rachael was in the Palm Room of the _Kalakala_ , breaking the news more gently to Tiger Print.

The Gray Beards, gathered at counter of the _Kalakala's_ Horseshoe Café, recoiled in shock. The sight of the old revolver and Maggie's blunt delivery stunned them into silence. They exchanged confused glances, all eyes eventually falling on Orac.

After stepping down off the three-mast sailing ship, Maggie and Rachael had found the car deck a roaring party. A thousand Rafters, at least, were watching the Kon-Tiki Races. All the Gray Beards were in attendance, including Orac, the celebrated man of the hour. It had been his plan, after all, to face down the Coast Guard. He had brought the Raft en masse here to the Races today. A few beers and the celebratory mood had worked to erase everyone's memory of Gandalf and Maggie crossing in the fog to the Coast Guard cutter. No one wanted to quibble; it was a great day for each and every citizen of the Raft.

But Maggie's arrival without Gandalf drew a few questioning looks. When Maggie had called all the Gray Breads together for an emergency council meeting, the mood on the car deck subtly changed.

"My God, what happened?" Orac spoke, picking up Gandalf's revolver and looking it over.

"He drew down on the Feds. They shot him down like a dog," Maggie said, knowing better than to sugarcoat it.

There was a ripple of angry murmurs from the Gray Beards.

Maggie raised a hand for silence. "But it's how he got us through the blockade. The Feds blinked. When they realized they might have an all-out revolt on their hands..."

"You bet they have a revolt on their hands!" One of the Gray Beards leapt to his feet, angrily slamming a fist down onto the table. Maggie fixed him with a withering, pointed glare that sent him slowly back down into his chair.

"No," she shook her head. "No one gets to be angry about this. No one. What Gandalf did, he did for the Raft. It was self-sacrifice. No one will sully his good deed by using this as an excuse for more violence. The fact of Gandalf's death will stay in this room until such a time as the full weight of his act can be communicated to the Raft at large. Until then, if this information leaks, I will hold each and every person in this room accountable."

"But what about Tiger Print?" someone asked.

"Rachael is with her now."

"Then we must honor Gandalf's memory," Orac spoke up, returning the revolver to the table. "And continue our stewardship of the Raft after the model he established." Orac began to pull himself up to his feet. "I, for one -"

"No," Maggie interrupted. Her attention was enough to return Orac to his seat.

Maggie reached into the front pocket of her jeans. She rummaged around and came up with the large, flat key. This she dropped down on the table beside the revolver.

There was a collective gasp from the Gray Beards.

"Where did you get that?" a Gray Beard asked.

"Gandalf left it for me," Maggie replied.

"But..."

"And with it, I think we can all agree, he meant to leave me the Exchange also."

"But..." Gray Beards muttered amongst themselves.

"What are you doing, Maggie?" Orac asked, looking up from the key to Maggie's face. His voice was almost lost in the tussle of everyone attempting to speak at once.

"How do we know that's genuine?" a Gray Beard called out over the din of voices.

"Quiet!" Maggie called out. She picked up the heavy colt, and used its handle as a gavel on the table.

The Gray Beards fell silent.

"Alright," Maggie began, dropping the gun back on the table. "I know the Raft has no leader, has never needed a leader, and doesn't want one. And up until today, that had been all well and good because we had Gandalf. A king with no desire to be king is the best kind. But those days have passed and when Gandalf saw the need to sacrifice himself for the good of the Raft, he did so. When the time came for Gandalf to act as a leader, he did. The Raft might have never wanted a leader, but it had always had one. And now he's gone.

"For whatever reason, Gandalf saw it fit to hand this mantle of un-leadership to me. Perhaps Gandalf understood that the death of Meerkat has fundamentally changed the nature and purpose of the Raft. I don't know. Perhaps he saw what the Raft sorely lacks is law and order. Whatever his reason, leaving this key behind for me signified something. Perhaps we can argue about the detail, but one fact about this key is undeniable: what it unlocks. How can you know it is genuine? It would only take a trip below decks to know for sure. No, I think everyone here understands what this key is: authority. The authority of the Exchange. The authority of the gold that sits in the vault below our feet, the only the authority the Raft has ever had or can ever understand.

"Of course, there is no reason anyone here should accept my authority. The Raft is free, everyone can do as they please. And what I will propose in the coming weeks will give each and every one of you pause. The days of the Raft sitting separate and apart from the mainland is over. Closer integration with the dryfoots is inevitable. I accept the challenge of overseeing this change. Let's say I've accepted the Raft's franchise. I accept responsibility for its welfare and safety.

"But all of you must understand what is at stake if you choose to oppose me. This key gives me the power to sink the Raft. You all know it. Without the Exchange, without Sum, this whole enterprise can so easily vanish below the water. This key is power – total and ultimate power over the Raft. And Gandalf left it to me."

The Gray Beards were silent. There was nothing to stay. They stared at Maggie in awestruck silence. She'd gotten her message across. Looking from slack-jawed face to slack-jawed face, Maggie knew her power play had been successful. What she knew about Gandalf that remained unsaid, could stay unspoken.

Maggie reached forward and picked up her key. She returned it to her jeans pocket and turned, starting for the Horseshoe Café's door.

It was Orac who couldn't let the moment pass by. "Have you caught Meerkat's murderer?" he asked, speaking low and even. He meant it as a biting rebuke, one last twist of the knife before Orac admitted defeat. But Maggie had an honest, truthful answer ready. Until she'd stepped aboard the _Kalakala,_ she could not have answered that question positively. But as she stood before the Gray Beards giving her ultimatum, the fog of the whole confused mess had cleared before her eyes.

She could now answer honestly, truthfully, "Yes, I have," she said as she hobbled slowly forward, reaching for the handle of the door.

Chapter 34

Maggie stepped through the door and into the _Kalakala's_ Rose Room. She met Rachael and a sobbing Tiger Print. She took the key out of her pocket and turned it over in her palm. Was she correct? Did she really know who had killed Meerkat? There was only one way to know for sure.

Rachael ran up to Maggie and threw her arms around her. Pulling away, she looked Maggie square in the eye. "How did it go?"

Maggie looked over Rachael's shoulder at Tiger Print sniffing into a handkerchief. Maggie just nodded. Rachael understood the full weight of what the nod meant. Maggie let go of Rachael and stepped up to Tiger Print, slipping down onto the bench beside her and hugged her gently.

"I'm so sorry, Tiger," Maggie said as Tiger Print sobbed into her shoulder. "If I'd known what he was planning, I'd never have..."

"I know, I know," Tiger Print bawled.

"Gandalf was such a great man," Maggie continued. "Everything that has happened – everyone that made it here today safely owes him a debt. The sacrifice that Gandalf made is immeasurable. No one will totally understand it."

Tiger Print broke off the hug, pulling herself straight and trying to regain some composure. "I just don't know how I'm going to..." she began and broke out in a new wave of tears.

Maggie pulled herself to her feet, the large, flat key still in her hand. Rachael stepped into her place, wrapping Tiger Print in a warm hug.

Maggie looked at the key, feeling its teeth. "I'm afraid there's one last thing that we must do, Tiger, before this is all over," she said solemnly.

"Oh no," Rachael interjected. "There can't be anything so important that she must do it now. Leave the poor woman alone."

"No, I'm sorry," Maggie continued. "It's a terrible burden for me to ask this of you right now, Tiger, but I have to insist. The door that this key goes to..."

"Maggie," Rachael scolded, patting Tiger Print on the back. She was genuinely angry, disappointed in Maggie.

"Oh, don't worry," Tiger Print pulled herself away from Rachael's hug, collecting herself. "No, no, I'm okay. You have Gandalf's key, ah?" Tiger Print said, looking up at Maggie through bloodshot eyes.

"Yes," Maggie nodded. "Now, if you can show us the door that it opens..."

"Yes, yes..." Tiger Print said, climbing to her feet. She plodded in her bare feet for the aft stairwell, dabbing at her cheeks with her handkerchief. Maggie limped to follow. Rachael reached up and took Maggie firmly by the arm.

"Really? Right now? You have to do this now?" she seethed.

"Trust me," Maggie said, pulling her arm free of Rachael's grasp. She limped off, following Tiger Print.

#

At its construction, the _Kalakala_ had sported a below decks bar called the Tap Room, located off the ferry's engine room. While the Passenger Deck had its lady's lounge, exclusively for the use of the ship's female passengers, the Tap Room was the dark, dank, smoky escape for their male counterparts.

With shower facilities and its titular beer supply, it had serviced the burly dockyard workers who rode the ferry between the city's waterfront and the naval dockyards of Bremerton.

Inevitably, the toxic mix of testosterone and liquor that the Tap Room attracted turned into more trouble than it was worth to the owners of the _Kalakala_ , the Black Ball Line. During World War Two, the Tap Room was shut down, closed off from the rest of the vessel. Its access stairwell was eventually completely removed.

Though Gandalf's restoration of the _Kalakala_ attempted to restore the ferry back to its original glory, paying attention of every possible detail, the space that had once been occupied by the below decks bar he designated for a very different use. Its access stairwell was completely closed off, hidden underneath a flush hatchway in the floor of the car deck. A single spiral ladder led down from the hatch, deep into the bilge of the old ferry. Illuminated by a single bare bulb, the bottom rung of the ladder faced onto a large, foreboding steel door with a single huge keyhole and handle.

It was Gandalf's vault, hidden away in the belly of his restored ferry. He'd converted the whole of the old Tap Room into one great armored safe. It was where he stored his gold, the precious metal that backed his Exchange, the rock on which the currency of the Raft was built.

Sum, his money, had real value. Unlike the greenbacks printed by the US Government, the Raft would tolerate no fiat currency. Sum kept the Raft free from the worst excesses of the mainland: inflation, runway taxation, government waste. Aboard the Raft, a dollar – or an hour – in your pocket really meant something. It meant wealth. A store of value. It couldn't be taken away by a faceless bureaucrat either by edict or through the need to hide his own reckless indebtedness by debasing the whole of the money supply. Backed by gold, an hour of Sum was something with real, objective value. Stored away safe in Gandalf's vault.

A vault to which Maggie now had the key.

Despite the large gathered crowd, Rachael, Maggie, and Tiger Print were able to make their way towards the rear of the large car deck without encountering a soul. The spectators were standing at the bow of the vessel, feverishly watching the unfolding races and oblivious to anything else. Tiger Print led Maggie and Rachael directly to the hidden hatch at the rear of the car deck unobserved.

Maggie had perhaps stepped across the hatch a thousand times in her years of coming and going aboard the _Kalakala,_ yet until Tiger Print looped a finger through its handle, she was unaware that the hatch was below her feet. It was hidden in plain sight, masterfully integrated into the car deck. Just one more square yard of steel.

With great effort, Tiger Print lifted the hatch, swinging it up on its old hinges. It groaned with the agony of a door that was seldom opened and closed. Halfway up, the weight proved too much for Tiger Print. Maggie and Rachael quickly caught the door, pulling it up and over and back down onto the car deck with a clang. Tiger Print reached a hand down into the darkness, snapping on a switch. Down below, a single fluorescent flicked to life in the depths of the ship.

"Down there," Tiger Print said, sniffing and pointing down into the gloom. She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief and blew her nose.

"If you don't mind," Maggie said, gesturing for Tiger Print to lead her down into the darkness.

"What?" Tiger Print said dizzily. "Oh, alright," and Tiger Print stepped forward, carefully hooking her toes onto the ladder and descending.

"Maggie." Rachael gave Maggie a stern glance as Tiger Print vanished below them. Maggie didn't return the disgusted stare, she simply waited until the ladder was clear and started down the rungs herself.

Irritated, Rachael followed.

There was barely enough room at the base of the ladder for all three women. Tiger Print and Maggie squeezed into the cramped antechamber, their bare feet standing on the very hull of the _Kalakala_ itself, the frigid waters of the Puget Sound only an inch below. As Rachael came down the ladder, she paused a few rungs from the bottom. There wouldn't be enough space for her and the others before the giant steel door.

"This is ridiculous," she said, still above Maggie and Tiger Print's heads. "I'm climbing back up."

"No, just wait there for a second," Maggie replied. "Let me open the vault."

"What? Why? Why did you make all of us climb down here?"

"To answer one last question," Maggie said cryptically.

"What? What question?"

"The only question that's really mattered all along," Maggie said, fishing the key out of her jeans. "Why was Meerkat killed?"

"And the answer is in the vault?" Tiger Print asked in surprise.

"It is," Maggie said with all gravity.

In the gloom, she put the wide, flat key into the oversized keyhole. It slid into place and Maggie wiggled the key. It turned clockwise to the sound of a great many gears and levers moving inside the door.

Unlocked, the door shuddered noticeably inward.

Maggie put her shoulder into it, pushing on the door with all her might. From her perch up on the ladder, Rachael could only see the dark floor of the vault as the door swung open. Following it, Maggie vanished into the blackness inside. Tiger Print hesitantly watched as Maggie stumbled forward into the room. She seemed curious, she was no longer crying. Slowly, she stepped forward, also disappearing into the blackness of the vault.

Rachael found herself alone, still clinging to the ladder.

Hurriedly, she climbed down, turning to the vault and seeing nothing in its darkness. Maggie and Tiger Print had stepped into its depths, but Rachael couldn't make out their silhouettes. Rachael moved forward, reaching out before her blindly. She could see nothing in the darkness, and felt around for anything before her.

There was nothing. Where had Maggie and Tiger Print gone? There must be a light, Rachael reasoned, instinctively turning to her left. She groped forward until her hands came in contact with the wall of the vault. Weren't light switches always to the left of a door? Rachael asked herself. She'd never really given it much thought, but now in the pitch black she wished she had. She felt around, running her fingers over the cold steel walls of the vault. She found something that could be an old-style twist light switch. She grabbed it firmly between her thumb and forefinger and gave it a hard twist to the right.

Three banks of long, white fluorescent tubes flicked up against the ceiling of the vault. From total darkness to glaring brightness, the vault was suddenly bathed in a torrent of light.

Rachael raised an arm to shield her eyes, but not before catching a glimpse of the blurs of Maggie and Tiger Print standing in the center of the vault. Grunts of pain filled the echoing room and everyone tried to adjust to the flickering fluorescents.

As her eyes adjusted to the glare, Rachael began to comprehend what she saw. Or rather, comprehend what she didn't see. The vault, lined on three walls by heavy-grade shelving, was almost totally empty. Nothing glittered in the bright, stark light that was blinding Rachael. No gold. Blinking, Rachael strained to examine the room. Nothing, just a moderate-sized lockbox at one end of the room.

"Where's the..." Rachael began, but had already answered her own question. "There's no gold."

"No," Maggie said, her hands coming away from her face. "No, no gold."

"You knew, didn't you?" Rachael asked.

"I suspected," Maggie answered.

"Then why bring us all the way down here?" Rachael looked between Maggie and Tiger Print. "Did you know?" Rachael asked Tiger.

Tiger Print's eyes were again full of tears. "Oh yes," she replied meekly. "All Gandalf's talk of a secret room full of gold, it was all so much hot air. All our money, you see, he sunk into this ship. The restoration, that was what Gandalf really cared about. The Exchange... well, that just happened. And it so quickly got out of hand. The first time there was fear of a run of the Exchange, Gandalf was able to quash it by implying the existence of this gold room.

"But that too so quickly got away from him. Soon it was what everyone associated with Sum, the reason they believed in it. They trusted it because the gold backed it. So Gandalf had to keep on lying, he had to keep up the pretense. You see, as long as everyone trusted in Sum, believed that this room was filled with gold, then there was no need for any of it. If word had escaped, however, that this vault was really empty this whole time..."

"Then there'd have been a run on the Exchange and Gandalf would have had to open up the vault and prove the gold's non-existence."

"Yes," Tiger Print said softly, her small voice echoing off the empty vault. "Ironic, really." And she again began to cry.

"And _this_ ," Rachael asked, stepping forward and peering around the vault in wonder, "was why Meerkat was killed?"

"Yes," Maggie replied, stepping up to the lock box.

"She knew? She knew there was no gold? She knew Gandalf's secret, and he killed her because of it?"

Maggie flipped open the lid of the lockbox and looked down into its bottom. She reached in and came back with a bundle of greenbacks. They were old and well used, wrapped in a rubber band. She flipped through the stack of hundreds and showed it to Rachael.

"Gandalf must have brought her down here to give her the blackmail money that she gave to Horus. This was the sum total of Gandalf's wealth. Greenbacks. What money he had was in dryfoot currency, not gold. Here, in his vault." Maggie tossed the bundle of notes back into the lockbox.

Rachael's mind raced. She was desperately attempting to piece it together – put together the whole picture as Maggie had so obviously already done. But it was all bouncing around in her head: Meerkat, Horus, the Senator, Galahad. Her teeth hurt and the positive effects of her breakfast were starting to wear off. She, frankly, had just about had enough for one day.

"Then Gandalf was paying Meerkat to smear the Senator? Using her and Horus to implicate Hadian in a sex scandal?"

"As you heard me tell the Kid. Gandalf's fingerprints are all over it. But this empty vault explains so much more than what I told Galahad..."

"Like?" Rachael prodded.

"Like Meerkat's double identity: Joanna Church and Rebbecca Oldrich. Why the SPD was unable to spot that fake ID in Meerkat's pocket."

Maggie looked up at the flickering bulbs above her, blinking, then directly at Rachael.

"Because it wasn't a fake ID. It was a real one. A real, government issued ID."

It hit Rachael. "Witness Protection."

"Exactly. Rebbecca Oldrich was gone, replaced by Joanna Church. Rebbecca's past life, the warrants in Arizona, had been wiped clean. Meerkat was leaving the Raft not because she was pregnant or to escape Horus, but because she'd made a deal with the authorities. Meerkat was putting on her boots to claim a new life."

"But informing on Horus doesn't get you Witness Protection," Rachael said, watching Maggie's face intently.

"No, it most certainly does not. Horus is – was a small fish. Someone the police could have scooped up at any time. No, in rehab it wasn't the local authorities concerned about drugs that had approached Meerkat. It had been the Feds. The Kid. And it wasn't Horus that interested him, but Gandalf. Gandalf and his Exchange. Any information that could undermine the Exchange could undermine the whole Raft. In trade, Meerkat would get her old life erased. A new identity. A new beginning."

"Galahad," Rachael hissed in shock. "He knew all along."

"That's why he reacted so aggressively. The blockade. It wasn't the Seattle Police implicated in Meerkat's death, but the FBI. They were climbing all over Horus's boat that night, not looking for him, but for Meerkat. She was late for her rendezvous with the Feds. When she washed up dead in the morning... they had to try to keep a lid on the whole incident. If that meant sinking the Raft in the process, so be it."

"But he didn't see the Senator getting pulled into the mess?"

"No, Gandalf's plan almost worked. All the pieces were in place. All he needed to happen was for Horus to get arrested. For him to open his big mouth on the record. Then the situation would have exploded in the FBI's face. Dead informant, Senator implicated in torrid sex scandal. If only I hadn't gone ashore. If only I haven't intervened."

"But you did your job too well," Rachael added.

Maggie shrugged.

"Then, Gandalf did kill Meerkat to send Horus to jail? It was his only move when... what? He realized that no one was investigating Horus's drug trade?"

"No."

"He discovered she was an FBI informant?"

Maggie's expression subtly changed. Perhaps she shifted on her injured foot. "Oh, no, Gandalf would never have hurt Meerkat, no matter what he discovered. For all his failings, for all his machinations, he wasn't the sort to hurt a girl."

"But you said the answer to who killed Meerkat was in this vault?" Rachael asked, confused.

Maggie's gaze turned and fell on Tiger Print. "And it is."

Chapter 35

Tiger Print didn't raise her eyes to meet the accusing stares of Maggie or Rachael. She looked down at the handkerchief in her hand, kneading it around in her fists, looking for a dry corner.

Rachael gasped, the full impact of Maggie's accusation sinking in. "You?" Rachael said directly at Tiger Print. The silence was damning. "Her?" Rachael turned to Maggie. "No, but Gandalf..."

"Learned the truth," Maggie said in a solemn, flat tone. "When?" she asked Tiger Print. "After the town hall, but before we left for the Coast Guard cutter? You overheard Gandalf begging me to find the identity of Meerkat's murderer. To save the Raft. Was it then that you confessed?"

Tiger Print stood in silence looking at the handkerchief in her clenched fists.

"But Gandalf went to meet with the FBI anyway. Why?" Rachael asked.

"Because he knew it was over. If Tiger Print had murdered Meerkat, then the Raft was sunk. Done for. All that was left that Gandalf could do was to protect the thing aboard the Raft that he loved the most: Tiger Print herself. He knew that drawing down on the dryfoots, taking a federal bullet for the Raft, would instantly cast suspicion onto him. All attention would be drawn away from the real murderer. Alive, he couldn't save the Raft. But dead, he knew he still had some value: Meerkat's murderer, Raft martyr, dryfoot scapegoat all wrapped up into one. Gandalf realized he was worth more dead than alive. All he had to do was jump in front of a gun."

Tiger Print began to sob, the sadness bubbling up from deep down inside her throat. The tears came and she wept into her sopping handkerchief. Rachael felt a momentary pang of pity, then quickly corrected herself. Tiger Print was the murderer? It couldn't be. It just didn't seem real.

"The only question, of course, is why?" Maggie continued. "Why did Meerkat have to die? Was it all because of this?" Maggie gestured at the empty vault around them. "Because she was working with the FBI? Because she knew about the gold? Or rather, the lack of it?"

"Oh God, no," Tiger Print bawled, choking back a sob. "Neither Gandalf nor I had any idea she was working with the dryfoots. She came to Gandalf... asked for money... to kick her habits."

"And Gandalf gave it to her?"

"Oh yes."

"And more besides. To implicate the Senator?"

Tiger Print nodded. "He thought if he could mar the Senator in a scandal, he could derail some tax vote that would have closed the loophole that kept the Raft afloat."

"And that was why Meerkat had to die?" Rachael asked, trying to piece it together.

Tiger Print shook her head. "No, no... Gandalf... Gandalf... two days ago, Meerkat came to Gandalf, looking for more money. She was heading back to shore again, supposedly for another rehab meeting. She was covering for the trips onshore by telling Horus that she was meeting with the Senator. She needed to return with blackmail money. Not a lot, but enough to make the story about the Senator seem credible. Gandalf wanted to help her, so he'd been giving her greenbacks. From that lockbox." Tiger Print pointed across the empty vault. "He didn't have the good sense to hide this empty room from her.

"This had all happened before. A dozen, eighteen trips she'd made back and forth. Each time, Gandalf had provided a few thousand dollars. We assumed she was giving it to Horus, and perhaps some of it was. She must have been meeting with the dryfoot police, huh?" Tiger Print looked up at Maggie in the dim light of the vault. "We had no idea... I guess she was playing us for fools as well as Horus.

"Anyway, with the other trips, Chemical had always taken her to shore, along with his other deliveries. But two nights ago, there was nothing going ashore for Chemical to deliver, so Meerkat asked me for a ride. She was having dinner aboard the _Geoduck_ with Tea Queen, but then, if it wasn't too much trouble, could I run her over to Seattle? I said yes, thinking nothing of it. I went to bed early, and in the wee hours of the morning my phone rang. Meerkat was ready to leave.

"She was aboard the _Straight Dope_ , moored off the coast of Bainbridge. I was to run her around the Island, across the Sound and into the city. But as we cleared my dinghy around the Rich Passage, I came to realize something: Meerkat was happy, blissfully happy. The happiest I'd ever seen her. At first, I thought nothing of it and pointed my boat at the lights of the city. But the closer we came to the waterfront of Seattle, the clearer it became: Meerkat was using again, she wasn't going ashore for rehab. She'd been out all night with Tea Queen and she was high. She had thousands of Gandalf's dollars in her pocket and she was playing him like a fool. She hadn't been going ashore to clean up her act, she'd been going ashore to feed her habits. In the dark, I cut the engine of the boat and confronted Meerkat. She denied it, of course, but I demanded she return Gandalf's money. She was more than happy to, she said she didn't need it anymore. She didn't need any of us, or our stupid Raft. Once she got ashore she was done with all of us, she wouldn't have to see any of our ridiculous faces ever again.

"I had no idea what she meant by it, but it infuriated me. I called her names, accused her of horrible, horrible things. Gandalf was one of the few people she'd confided in about her troubles in Arizona. He'd told me. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I hit a nerve. She lunged at me. We struggled. My hand found a fish club in amongst the tangled mooring lines...

"She just toppled over the side like she'd taken a dive into the dark water. I wasn't really aware that I'd stuck her. But when she hit the churning water and sank, and sank, and didn't fight against her clothes as they dragged her down... I knew I'd hit her. Hit her hard. Hard enough to knock her clean out of the dinghy. She was gone. Down, down, under the black water. I threw the stick aside and reached my arm down into the blackness, but she'd vanished. I had no light, no life vest... she was gone. I turned and started the engine and brought the dinghy about. I set a course back to the _Kalakala_. After all, what else could I do?

"Meerkat was gone, Meerkat was dead and I had killed her. I sailed back to the _Kalakala_ and climbed into bed."

Chapter 36

"Then..." Rachael began. Above, on the car deck the _Kalakala_ , a cheer rose up. It reminded Rachael that just a few yards away, the Kon-Tiki races were still in full swing. People were happy, celebrating. Perhaps a particularly well-contested race had just finished. Rachael didn't know the specifics. She was locked away, below the water line, trapped in a suffocating dungeon with a confessed murderer. Her head throbbed and she longed for her bed. Rachael wished she could just close her eyes and be magically transported back to dryland.

She'd done her part, the story was over. She'd helped Maggie find her murderer and now Rachael wanted to go home. But yet, there was still so much farther that they all had to travel. Rachael's chest ached with the burden.

"Then... Gandalf died for nothing?" Rachael said, breaking the pained, extended silence that had only been filled by the cheering outside the ferry.

"I- I -" Tiger Print returned to her sobbing.

"It doesn't matter," Maggie said, turning and starting for the dimly lit ladder beyond the heavy steel door.

"Doesn't matter?" Rachael repeated, confused. "But what do we do with her?" Rachael said, pointing at the blubbering Tiger Print.

"Do with her?" Maggie said, stopping and looking back. "Nothing. We do nothing with her."

"But -" Rachael started.

"Meerkat's death cost her her husband. A life for a life. She's paid her bill."

"But Gandalf was innocent... Everyone thinks he murdered Meerkat."

"He was and they do, and we have to make sure they keep thinking that or our détente with the dryfoots will collapse in on itself."

"But -"

"But nothing. Gandalf died to protect Tiger Print. To protect the Raft. I have no intention of letting his death mean nothing. Tiger Print has paid for her crime and Gandalf for his. Blame? There's plenty of that to spread around. Who killed who and why and who believes what? It doesn't matter. If everyone is happy believing what they believe, then all the better."

"But you can't just leave it like this," Rachael barked at Maggie. "You said before that Meerkat was your responsibility. As her Magistrate, it was your duty to investigate her murder. And you plan on just letting her murderer go free?"

"No, not free," Maggie said with an edge to her voice. "Tiger Print," she commanded. "You're to put your boots on. You're no longer welcome aboard the Raft. You will leave the _Kalakala_ and return to shore. The Raft has no prisons, no jail cells, no brigs, but there's a prison ready and waiting for you, Tiger, and I will lock you away in it." Maggie turned back and stepped through the great steel door. She raised her injured foot onto the bottom rung of the ladder. "Get off the Raft, Tiger Print, and never return. Let that be your jail cell."

And Maggie, wearily, began to climb.

#

Rachael found Maggie sitting at the very rear of the _Kalakala's_ car deck, her bare feet dangling over the still water. The Kon-Tiki races and its spectators were still raising a din from the bow of the craft, but Maggie had found a quiet spot at the stern of the ship, away from the celebrations. She was watching shore and letting her toes hover over the glassy water. The sun was high in the sky, the cloud of the morning rainstorm had burned away.

Rachael sat down at the lip of the car deck next to Maggie, letting her own bare feet dangle over the water.

"That's that then." Rachael shielded her eyes against the glare of the sun and looked up at the sky. "Turned out to be a fine day," she said.

"Mmm," was all Maggie said in response. They lapsed into silence and they both watched the water below their feet.

"I suppose I'll have to write something about this," Rachael said, thinking out loud. "Justify my two-day absence. But after I take into account all the half-truths and downright lies, I'm not sure what's left over for me to write about..."

"Mmm," Maggie hummed again.

"I hate that 'Mmm,' it always means trouble. Aren't you done? You've discovered the identity of Meerkat's murderer and you saved the Raft from destruction. Everyone's celebrating." Rachael gestured behind her towards the prow of the craft. "You should, too. What's left to 'Mmm' about?"

"Nothing," Maggie said. "Nothing."

"I mean, I watched you every step of the way, Maggie. I can't believe what you just did... t _hat's_ what I'm going to write about, now I understand... you Maggie. Maggie Straight the Magistrate. That's my story. When the dryfoots read about you, Maggie... well, it will be good for the Raft. You're the public face of the Raft now, remember? A little friendly press can't hurt."

"We'll always remember this as the beginning of the end, Rachael," Maggie said solemnly.

"What? Are you worried about Kid Galahad? Because I think you've handled him quite well. The gold? I can assure you my lips are sealed. And Tiger Print..."

"No, no... it's not that."

"Then what?"

"Everything we left the shore to escape, it's followed us out here."

"Maggie..." Rachael paused, watching the water. She thought about her words, continuing, "The Raft is no magical kingdom. It's made up of men and women, just like society onshore. What has followed you out here to the Raft, that was no creation of dryfoot government, but the trials and tribulations of Man. Deceit, murder, theft, lies, they follow mankind like a cloud. You escaped to the Raft, Maggie, but you couldn't escape dryland without bringing yourselves with you. That's what you were running away from Maggie: you. The dark part of your humanity. You can't escape it, it will always be with you. On dryland or aboard the Raft."

Maggie looked up from the shining water with heavy eyelids. "Thanks," she moaned.

Rachael laughed. Threw her arms around Maggie and hugged her head to her chest. "Don't be so morose! Look at you, Maggie, look at the person you've become. Remember, I knew you before you came out here to the Raft. I lived with you, I loved you. But back then, you were not even half the woman that you've become. You're living proof, Maggie, of what the Raft can mean to people: a new beginning, an opportunity to thrive. The Raft means freedom, Maggie, and you draw your strength from it. It's your Raft now, you've taken control of it. It's down to you to shepherd it through a difficult transition, a reorientation of the Raft to the greater world beyond its hull. But you're the right woman to do it, because only you _are_ the Raft. You so acutely understand its potential. What the Raft has provided you, it can offer to so many others. The freedom to realize what is within. You can sell the Raft to dryfoot society, Maggie – a society tired and jaded and indifferent to freedom – by just showing them what you've become.

"And that's what I'll write in the paper. My Maggie. Not about murder and deceit and sex and corruption, but about you. What you were able to overcome, what you were able to accomplish with nothing but the help of one seasick reporter and plenty of hard sailing."

Maggie parted her lips to speak, but let her words go unspoken. Instead, she said, "I love you," and took Rachael's hand.

"I love you, too," Rachael replied, squeezing Maggie's hand.

And they sat there, watching the sun glisten off the water as cheers rose up from the gathered crowd behind them.

Epilogue

Maggie's feet were cold.

Senator Hadian's loafers were, by no stretch of the imagination, winter footwear. But they were still the only shoes Maggie owned, and they were by now almost worn out in the sole.

The last six months had seen Maggie spending far too much time onshore. Her life had become an almost endless parade of nondescript bureaucrats. Government types. Lackeys. Everyone and anyone trying to tell Maggie what to do.

Who knew that running the Raft would turn out to be so... complicated? After all, Maggie had no official power, no one had ever elected her. She had no title and held no office. She was simply in possession of the phone that rang any time anyone on dryland wanted to reach the Raft. And ring the phone did, off the hook.

Maggie stumbled through the door of the _Salmon Bay Cafe_ with a gust of cold winter wind rushing through the door behind her. Hurriedly, she latched the door and shook the icy rain from her coat. She whisked it off and onto a hook beside the door. She quickly scanned the breadth of the dining room, scanning for her dinner date, and found the restaurant mostly empty. It was early. Too late for lunch and too early for dinner. Maggie found a table and sat down. A waitress brought coffee.

Of course, mostly all of the hullabaloo was Maggie's own fault. She'd created an almost insurmountable mountain of work for herself. When the early negotiations with the Feds had broken down, with the government demanding all sorts of concessions from the Raft that Maggie knew the Rafters would never make, she'd fired back with her nuclear option: Raft statehood.

Of course, it was a crazy idea, no one on either side of the table had really taken it seriously. But the idea that the Raft might become America's first meta-state had thrown a sizable wrench into the federal machine that had hoped to reintegrate the Raft into dryfoot society.

After all, wasn't the nation built on the idea of no taxation without representation? And with no fixed address the Rafters had no electoral districts or congressmen to represent them. It was all a bluff, and Maggie never pretended that it was anything else – the Raft didn't realistically want or expect to become the country's fifty-third state – but the long parade of nondescript bureaucrats had the devil's own time trying to explain exactly why the Raft _couldn't_ apply for statehood. Was a contiguous area of land _required_ for statehood? Was land required at all? If the Raft could apply for statehood, did that then mean that, say, the Amish could apply for statehood based on philosophical unity despite their disparate physical reality?

Nobody knew. Or rather, nobody knew why not. They blustered and laughed and wrote dismissing editorials, but Maggie's push for Raft statehood plodded on. The Raft had even had a Constitutional Convention of sorts, if a potluck and putt-putt golf aboard the _Kalakala_ could be a Constitutional Convention.

And the bluff served its purpose. A Government official wasting his time thinking up new strategies to derail statehood was a Government official not thinking up ways to collect taxes from the Raft. It served a secondary purpose, too: casting doubt on the validity of Senator Hadian's end-run Constitutional Amendment to protect marriage.

Only a few weeks after Meerkat's murder, the Supreme Court had ruled in favor of the Senator's ratification convention. One had been hurriedly called in his home state of Washington, safely over in the more conservative eastern part of the state, and ratification of the 28th Amendment had easily passed. It just left the Senator needing one more state to reach the three-fourths required for the Amendment to become law. But if the United States had fifty-three states, the Senator would find himself in need of a fortieth state to back his Amendment. A Herculean political task beyond even the powers of Senator Hadian.

Maggie sipped at her coffee and smiled. It was nothing solid, nothing permanent. But the delicious pleasure of one-upping the Senator was well worth the bureaucratic pain. While her petition for Raft statehood was before Congress, while those who trod the corridors of power searched their law books for exactly the right wording to well and truly crush Maggie's nonsense, the Senator's attempt to codify in law his own hate and prejudice would remain frustrated.

Yes, Maggie sipped at her coffee and smiled. It was a delicious pleasure indeed.

All the back and forth and meeting with officials had allowed Maggie to keep her diplomatic immunity intact, as either a Law enforcement officer for the Nation of Liberia or the potential first Governor of the State of Raft, it didn't really matter. The IRS was turning a blind eye to Maggie's comings and goings on dryland.

So when Rachael had called earlier and asked if Maggie would like to have coffee at the _Salmon Bay Cafe_ , she'd been able to accept. She'd lowered her dinghy off the stern of the _Soft Cell_ and motored into the locks. Since saying goodbye six months ago at the height of the summer, Maggie and Rachael had only spoken on the phone. They'd both been so busy. Now winter was settling down over the Northwest and the winds were picking up out on the Puget Sound. It was a bumpy life aboard the Raft in the winter, an ever-moving platform under your feet. Maggie was more than happy to sneak away for an hour, to the warmth and stability of an onshore restaurant. Even if there was a mountain of work back on the _Soft Cell_ that needed to get done.

And it would be good to see Rachael again, Maggie thought.

The front door of the café opened and Rachael's bundled, thin frame came in out of the rain. She disentangled her red hair from her scarf and crossed the restaurant floor, throwing her arms around Maggie as she stepped up to the table.

"Maggie, you look wonderful," she said, taking a chair at the table.

"I suppose congratulations are in order," Maggie said, dropping back into her seat.

"Congratulations?" Rachael laughed. "You mean, the article? I don't think so. You don't get congratulated because you're _nominated_ for a Pulitzer Prize."

"Still, I'm very proud," Maggie beamed. The news had only become public last week. The article that Rachael had written about the Raft, the coverage of Maggie's investigation of Meerkat's murder, however incomplete, had become a sensation. It had run in three parts over three weeks in the _Seattle Times,_ and _Time_ magazine had republished it. The article \- and Rachael - were up for a Pulitzer. There was talk of a movie deal.

"I had a good story to write about someone I found very compelling," Rachael said as the waitress arrived with coffee.

"Well, you certainly brought some much needed positive attention to the Raft. And me," Maggie said, taking a refill of coffee. "That article opened a lot of doors for me back east with this whole statehood issue. For that, I very much thank you."

"You're welcome." Rachael took a sip of her coffee and found it scalding. She thought of something and smiled. "I saw Senator Hadian on the news last night, fuming about you and your Raft. I don't think he's entirely forgiven you for taking his loafers."

"Serves him right," Maggie laughed. "For trying to steal my civil rights."

Rachael laughed too, stirring milk into her coffee.

"Maggie, there's -"

"I just realized -"

They both attempted to speak at once.

"Sorry, you go first," Maggie said.

"No, no, it's nothing. Please," Rachael conceded.

"Oh, it's silly. I feel silly now," Maggie blushed.

"What? What? Oh, now you have to tell me."

"Well, it was... well, running the dinghy over here, I remembered picking you up that morning at Alki. When you told me your daughter's name was Margaret. I remember I started crying. It's silly, I know, but I never asked: Why on earth did you name her that?"

For a long second, Rachael seemed to weigh her response.

"Well?" Maggie finally asked. "Don't you remember? It's curious if nothing else, naming your child after your old lover."

"Oh no, I remember," Rachael shot back quickly, "I was trying to properly sugarcoat my reply..."

"Oh, great," Maggie rolled her eyes.

"No, no, it's not like that... listen, I'll tell you if you promise not to get mad."

"I wouldn't -"

"About this and about the other thing I'm about to ask you."

"What? Well, okay..." But Maggie was unsure she could keep her promise.

Rachael leaned back in her chair and took a deep breath. "When she was born, when she came out, Margaret, she tore me up good. She was late, almost a week, and the delivery was hard. Six hours. And after it was all over, I still had to go back the next day to the emergency room to stop the bleeding. It's okay, I was fine, it was just one of those things, but that stubborn little... well, you know. She just had to do things the hard way. If she could have come out sideways, I'm sure she'd have tried it. And to this day, she hasn't mellowed at all. Not a bit."

Maggie sardonically chuckled. "So you thought: who does that remind me of?"

"Exactly. I couldn't get the comparison out of my head. When I suggested it to Peter, he was fine with it. It's his grandmother's name and I'm not sure he grasps the derivative. But I'm superstitious about things like that. I think that names are important, what we call things and people. Maybe it's working with words all day. So, if Margaret was going have that side of her personality, then I hoped, if I named her after you, perhaps she might get the other side of your personality, too. The side that lets you take that stubborn streak and make something out of it, lets you be the squeaky wheel that actually gets the grease. Of course, when I named her I never thought for a second I'd ever see you again. That I'd have to sit here and explain it to you. Otherwise, she'd have been 'Sally.'"

Rachael was blushing, trying to find something else in the restaurant to look at other than Maggie. She took a sip of her coffee and fiddled with the cup.

"Okay, I'm not angry about that," Maggie said. "What was the other thing you're about to say that was going to upset me?"

Rachael let out a deep sigh. "I don't know if I want to ask you, now."

"Oh, come on," Maggie smirked.

"No, I was entertaining the idea of us working together again, but after that little confession, I'm starting to think it might be weird."

"No, it's -" Maggie heard the second part and skipped the first. Then her brain played catch up. "What? Work together? How?"

"Oh..." Rachael was still avoiding Maggie's gaze.

"What? Now I am getting mad."

"It's Peter," Rachael began, turning to look Maggie in the eye.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Rachael said quickly. "Nothing is wrong with Peter, no, he has..."

"Has what?"

"He has a case..."

"A case?"

"A murder. A week ago. It has everyone perplexed, it has Peter pulling out his hair. Well, after Meerkat, after the vault. I sort of told Peter everything..."

"What?" Maggie's eyes grew very wide.

"I had to tell someone the truth. After I wrote the _exposé. Peter can be trusted, Maggie. He can keep a secret. He's my husband after all. Anyway, I told him how you pieced the whole thing together. It impressed him. Professionally."_

_"_ _I don't understand," Maggie shook her head._

_"_ _I was thinking about a follow-up article. For the_ _Times_ _. Something to keep the story in people's mind. You know, with the first article in front of the Pulitzer judges, it can't hurt to have people talking about the story. So, if the Seattle Police brought the Barefoot Detective in on a case..."_

_"_ _The Barefoot Detective?" Maggie gulped at her coffee in surprise._

_"_ _Yeah, I'm trying it on for size. What do you think?" Rachael asked, leaning forward and watching for Maggie's reaction._

_"_ _I think you're crazy." Maggie put her coffee cup down._

_"_ _But -" Rachael tried quickly._

_"_ _But leave me out of it." Maggie climbed to her feet. "Dryfoot problems are no concern of mine," she said, looking around for her coat. She remembered it was on a hook by the door and started for it._

_"_ _Maggie," Rachael said, reaching out for Maggie's arm. "It would keep you in the papers, you could use the press if you ever expect your statehood petition to go anywhere."_

_"_ _I don't," Maggie said, pulling away her arm._

_"_ _Maggie," Rachael called out, rising from her chair. "Please."_

_It was the earnestness in her voice that made Maggie pause._

_Was she really considering it? She couldn't. There was no way that her onshore immunity would cover something like that. She'd be risking ruin. If the IRS brought an audit up against Maggie now, she and the statehood petition would both die a fiery death._

_But the sincerity in Rachael's voice told Maggie there was more to the request than just an unsolvable murder case. And didn't Maggie owe Rachael so much? After all she'd done for Maggie and the Raft? If Rachael was asking for Maggie's help, how could she possibly turn her back on her?_

_"_ _I'll need a real pair of shoes," Maggie said as she turned back to Rachael. "I can't walk around in the mud in these loafers."_

_"_ _No, of course not," Rachael said and gave Maggie a wide, genuine smile._

_What had she just agreed to? Maggie thought as she returned to table and picked up her coffee cup._

