Cooks Overboard by Joanne Pence

into the bathroom.
    She took a sip of water, then turned to go back to bed. Just then a stronger roll of the ship sent her reeling across the bathroom floor. As she stumbled past the medicine cabinet, she caught sight of her deathly pale face in the mirror.
    She clutched her rapidly worsening stomach. She needed to go back to bed and lie down immediately. On the other hand, she didn’t think it would be a good idea to get too far away from the bathroom.
    She worked her way back toward the bedroom and looked at Paavo. He was now stretched across the bed catty-corner, still sleeping soundly.
    Then she remembered the wall bed. At least there she could lie down and be near the bathroom—which, her stomach told her, was becoming increasingly necessary with every roll of the ship.
    Bracing herself, she lunged toward the wall bed, flipped up the two metal clamps that held the lengthwise bed against the wall, and tugged on it, lowering the bed all the way down. Then she hurled herself on top of it, clutching the thin mattress so she wouldn’t fall off. Just lying down on her stomach that way helped her feel a lot better. She spread her arms so that her hands gripped the edges of the narrow mattress.
    As the ship tossed about, the bow of the ship dipped. Her feet went up, her head down. She hadn’t been this far upside down since she tried taking a yoga class and had to stand on her head. Then the ship crested and her head rose high in the air, pointing toward heaven, her feet toward the other place. She felt like a little kid playing airplane. She’d heard that tropical storms were furious but short, and prayed it was true. This one had gone on long enough already.
    She tried to relax. She shut her eyes and willed herself back to sleep. Unfortunately, herthoughts were of past cruises she’d been on—ships with stabilizers, with tremendous varieties of gourmet food, with dancing, big swimming pools, even hot tubs. Her breathing deepened. Miniature golf, boutiques, a sauna. She let go of the mattress, turning on her side to go to sleep. A deluxe stateroom with a deep bath…
    As she began to doze, one side of the ship rolled upward in a long, slow climb, higher and higher, and suddenly she felt herself slide right off the mattress and against the wall. And still the boat climbed. She couldn’t even think of being seasick now, certain the ship would flip over and they’d be upside down in the water. She really didn’t want to be here any longer.
    The far side of the ship began to lower itself and she began to breathe again, although still tucked against the wall. But then, once more, it began to rise.
    The edge of the bed rose higher and higher.
    Suddenly, the bed itself, free now of her weight spread full on it to hold it down, suddenly bounded upward, right off the floor, and swung up into the wall, squashing her against it like a fly.
     
    The Hydra dialed the familiar number. “It’s me.”
    “You!”
    She smiled at the sound of fear in the man’s voice. It was exactly what she wanted to hear. That meant she could take care of this matter quickly, then go to the galley and do anotherquick search of a few things. “Listen, the Valhalla is supposed to dock in Cabo San Lucas tomorrow. I don’t want it to.”
    “What’s up?”
    “There are some people on board who I don’t want getting off the ship. They’ve got something of mine, and no one is leaving this crate until it’s in my hands. You’ve got to help.”
    “Hey, I can’t perform miracles.”
    “I don’t want a miracle, just a bribe. I don’t care who you get to—the harbormaster, the head of the dockworkers, some politician, but whoever it is, they need to tell the captain that there’s a strike going on and no one is available to load or unload his containers. Tell him that the people he sees working are scabs, and the union is ready to start gunplay if any more scabs are hired. The one doing the hiring might be the first to get shot. I know this