Nov 28th, 2033
That morning, Richard awoke enveloped by a newfound sense of autonomy—a sharp contrast to the days when his every move seemed shadowed by supervision and targets. It had been ages since he'd experienced such freedom, a liberty that harked back to his carefree MIT years. In a moment of spontaneity, rebelling against the regimented life he'd been leading, Richard declared an impromptu personal holiday. He was ready to savor a brief respite—a single day of leisure—before diligently committing to the demanding voyage ahead. “Let Narre and the others make what they will of it,” he mused. “They’ll soon come to understand who I am.” His recent experiences had underscored one undeniable truth: in this reshaped world, rigid schedules often yield to the weight of reality. The journey ahead was estimated at 21 to 28 days, yet Richard pragmatically anticipated it could stretch to 32.
After lounging luxuriously on the memory foam mattress for an hour, Richard still felt an unfamiliarity with his surroundings. Eventually, driven by curiosity, he began to explore the sparse controls within arm's reach. Absentmindedly, he toggled the intercom's input selector, which inadvertently unleashed a wave of sound. Suddenly, the air filled with the strains of Depeche Mode's "Enjoy the Silence," albeit sung with a Danish lilt. Startled and amused, Richard leaped to his knees, searching for the elusive volume control. Once located, he dialed the sound down, letting the music remain present yet subdued, like distant echoes from an old friend.
Following a leisurely breakfast and his standard hygiene routine, during which he lamented the absence of Iceland's robust water pressure, Richard was ready for his initial task: not getting lost. The ship had been a maze the night prior, prompting him to consider how to navigate the vast halls without leaving signs that could potentially aid pirates in the event of an attack. Dismissing the idea of impermanent markings, he turned to rote memorization—section by section. The path to the secret door was simple enough, but the long corridor beyond presented three choices surrounded by beige metal walls with color-coded stripes. He decided to discuss the meaning behind these colors with Narre. By tracing each route to subsequent junctions and then retracing his steps, Richard began to understand the layout, terming the junction area a “staging ground” for his memorization efforts the following day.
At Richard's request, Narre supplied him with a tablet loaded with comprehensive data about the vessel:
**Ship Name**: PVC Tømmerulv
**IMO Number**: 98653321
**Specifications for PVC Tømmerulv**:
- **Type**: Aframax Max (A-Max) Class tanker
- **Length Overall**: Approximately 250 meters
- **Beam**: 44 meters
- **Deadweight Tonnage (DWT)**: 120,000 DWT
- **Cargo Capacity**: Around 800,000 barrels of crude oil
- **Engine Type**: Dual-fuel diesel-electric engine
- **Speed**: Maximum speed of 15 knots, cruising speed of 13 knots
- **Flag**: Turkey
- **Shipyard**: Besiktas Shipyard, Istanbul
- **Classification Society**: DNV GL
- **Hull Design**: Double hull construction
- **Facility**: Crew amenities including a gym, recreation room, and modern cabins
Verbally, Narre elaborated that engine modifications allowed for doubling speed or range, although their current travel was at standard pace. He also pointed out that one of the so-called radar tower modifications disguised an anti-aircraft gun. As Richard was already aware, the "fail-safe" device on deck was nothing more than a decoy.
A lighthearted question escaped Richard: "Is there an escape sub attached to this room for a quick getaway?" He asked it half-jokingly, but the lack of such an escape pod slightly dampened his spirits, despite not really feeling the need for one. Fanciful disappointment aside, he whimsically dubbed the ship 'Na Laighe Bastard' in his mind—a nod to the works of science fiction author Larry Niven.
Richard then poured over the schematics and blueprints, seeking an understanding of the ship’s layout. Stumped by his room’s absence from the plans, he mulled over what other undocumented modifications St. Sere might have implemented, clear strategic omissions to hide the ship's actual capabilities. Despite the mystery, Richard couldn’t deny the ship was an engineering marvel, potentially overbuilt for its purpose. Even a month might prove insufficient to familiarize himself with all its intricacies. He managed to track down what he believed was the accessway to the ladder leading to his quarters. Using the accompanying glossary, he also marked the locations of the gym and the commissary—vital venues for maintaining both his physical and mental wellness.
For now, ascending and descending the access ladder doubled as enough physical exercise for Richard, the repetitive action warding off stiffness without requiring a visit to the gym. Yet he knew he couldn’t delay the inevitable study of the ship’s layout if he was to move around without hindrance.
Reaching the commissary, Richard navigated the long stretches of corridors that seemed to extend endlessly. However, he committed the route to memory with a mnemonic trick, despite its vexingly indirect path from his quarters—a mere seven turns and three stairwells away. In the commissary, he met two identical twins, fair-haired with pale skin and bright blue eyes belying any hint of albinism. Their likeness was offset by their weather-beaten, strong physiques, marks of a life spent braving the elements. The twins, absorbed in hearty bowls of stew, were surprised by Richard’s greeting, responding with a burst of rapid Danish.
A stranger’s voice chimed in with a playful jab, "Shouldn't an ambassador to Perfectland speak Danish?" This was Frederick, whose raven-black hair and Mediterranean complexion contrasted sharply with the twins. His prowess in English impressed Richard, who, despite years in Iceland, had scarcely learned the local tongue. Sitting between the short, solid twins and the moderately taller Frederick, Richard ribbed, "Blame it on nepotism. Languages just never click with me."
Frederick with a 'c' and a 'k' smiled warmly, bridging the gap between languages as they gathered at the crowded table. Chatter revealed only four others besides themselves crewed the vast ship, but rumors persisted of a secret contingent hidden within its depths.
That evening promised a poker game, Frederick mentioned, where all but the unseen captain would gather. The stakes were in 'Hellums', a currency concocted by Magnus—likely mentioned in the unread stack of Richard’s documents. With eight hours until the game began, Richard faced the challenge of finding something of value to wager in this strange new economy.
Back in his room, Richard rummaged through his belongings scattered on the floor. He considered each item, already selected for its indispensable nature, for potential poker stakes. Assessing the unfamiliar game with its unique deck and unfamiliar rules, he contemplated introducing a new game as a means of shifting the odds in his favor.
Without delay, he reached out to Narre via intercom, seeking help with brainstorming game ideas to offer at the poker table. Onboard tedium was evident, but survival meant the crew had to be resourceful and skilled in fending off monotony. Richard was determined to leverage every possible advantage, keen on making the most of any opportunity to tip the scales to his benefit.
Navigating the complexities of Perfectland's official currency, the Hellum, proved to be a financial conundrum. As a denomination, each Hellum represented a significant sum—a singular, large unit that, in theory, could not be subdivided. The crew, promised one Hellum apiece for their journey to Iceland and return voyage to Denmark, anticipated a generous compensation, their wages suggesting considerable value, even when accounting for provisions and accommodations. Yet, the practicality of everyday transactions, such as purchasing sundries, necessitated a more flexible approach to this cumbersome currency.
To bridge this gap, the crew ingeniously allocated each Hellum into 60 discrete squares, facilitating a divisible means of exchange for smaller-scale dealings and onboard gambling. It was a simple majority that determined ownership: anyone holding at least 31 squares effectively laid claim to an entire Hellum, rendering the remaining squares moot. Richard, with his astute calculation, resolved that to avoid accumulating excess wealth by the journey's end, it was imperative to retain fewer than 30 squares.
However, amidst the shrewd arithmetic and economic strategy, Richard's true ambitions transcended mere fiscal concerns. As the appointed ambassador of Perfectland, it was not the slice of currency he sought, but rather the rich tapestry of unfiltered information and candid conversations that unfurled in these less guarded moments—intellectual capital far more precious within the fluid social landscape of the ship.
As Richard delved into the intricate task of figuring an information exchange worth an opening stake, a revelation struck him—dangling inconspicuously from his neck was a treasure trove of cultural wealth. The unassuming USB key he wore like a talisman harbored nearly two full terabytes of the world's music catalog, from the timeless compositions of classical masters to the pulsating beats of contemporary K-pop. This digital library, encompassing millions of songs, was invaluable in a world where such cultural artifacts were a rarity.
With entrepreneurial acumen, Richard organized an auction that promised not just access to this wealth of music but the power to adjudicate it. The winning bid would ensure control over the ship's auditory environment, dictating the playlist accessible to the entire crew—but with a catch. The music would remain on the ship's system, yet its enjoyment would be bound by the password held solely by the auction's victor.
Enthusiasm buzzed through the crew as the auction commenced. It was Frederick, with his strategic foresight and a penchant for music, who seized the brilliant opportunity by bidding 27 squares. With this clever exchange, Richard not only safeguarded his precious collection but also fostered a sense of shared experience and morale among the crew, all while contributing to the ship's nuanced economy of Hellum squares.
Richard's puzzled expression conveyed his thoughts before a single word left his mouth. "You were only four squares away from controlling interest in a second Hellum?" he asked, the implication clear in his tone.
Frederick's response came with a sly grin. "I play well. Plus, if I read you right, you don't wish to win. Perhaps maybe you could try to lose in my direction?"
The realization that Frederick had so effortlessly deciphered his intentions unsettled Richard. It wasn’t so much the statement itself but the accuracy of the read. To be anticipated that closely was indeed unnerving; it was a subtle reminder that, aboard this vessel of cunning and strategy, he might not be the only one playing a deeper game.