“Good morning, Mr. Storm,” she said.
Storm made a grumbling noise that sounded like “wuueeaaaiii,” but it went up in pitch slightly at the end. The woman took it as a question.
“You’re aboard a boat called the Warrior Princess,” she said. “It is owned by my employer, Ingrid Karlsson. My name is Tilda. I am Ms. Karlsson’s personal assistant. You were brought here by helicopter last night shortly after you blacked out. I apologize for having to do it that way, but Ms. Karlsson is very security conscious. She never ties her boat up at port. She doesn’t like people coming by and gawking at it. She feels it invades her privacy.”
Storm sat all the way up, rubbed his eyes.
“I guess I needed saving sooner than I thought,” he said.
“Oh, this doesn’t count,” she said. “And I’m sorry about how last night had to end. But, for what it’s worth, I had a lovely time. You really are quite a magnificent dancer.”
She giggled, brought her hand to her mouth. “And an outstanding kisser. Thank you for that.”
Storm made a noise that was supposed to be “you’re welcome,” but it didn’t quite come out right.
“The effects of the sedative we used should be wearing off shortly,” she said. “If you like, I can have the ship’s doctor prepare a mild amphetamine for you to help you perk up a little quicker.”
“No drugs,” he croaked.
“Very well. Perhaps some breakfast, then?”
He nodded. Moments later, he heard, “Good morning, Mr. Storm. What can I have the chef prepare for you?”
Storm’s eyes struggled to focus. When they did, he saw that it was Jacque, from the previous night. Except he no longer looked like an indolent, spoiled cocaine addict. He was neatly attired in white pants and blue polo shirt. White and blue were apparently the staff uniform around here. He was a lot thinner than Storm remembered. No beer gut.
“You had a chest protector on,” Storm said.
“Yes, sir,” he said, smiling good-naturedly. “Though that was still a mighty good kick. I’m a little sore this morning.”
“I’m just glad I didn’t go for your face.”
“Ms. Karlsson’s security staff had studied your tendencies. They said if I brought my hands up and left my midsection exposed, that’s where you would strike. Good thing they were right. Anyhow, what can I get you from the kitchen?”
“Eggs. Bacon. Toast. Coffee,” Storm said, knowing that combination would restore his vitality more efficiently than any pill or potion from the ship’s doctor.
“Yes, sir,” he said, disappearing as quickly as he came.
Tilda showed Storm to the shower — though, sadly, did not join him — then pointed him toward a closet where several clothing choices were laid out for him. Storm went casual, selecting a black cashmere sports coat, a gray polo shirt, and a pair of jeans that fit his thighs and ass like they had been tailored for him. For all he knew, they had been.
After his breakfast, served to him on china that cost more than the first three cars Storm owned, Tilda led him on a long tour through the Warrior Princess, from the top of its glistening superstructure to the depths of its engine rooms. She let him have the run of the place, skipping only the crew’s quarters — which weren’t all that interesting — and Ingrid Karlsson’s personal quarters, which were very interesting, but which were only open to guests who were invited by Ingrid herself.
Tilda stopped at her own stateroom, which was just off the main aft deck. He wasn’t sure if it was just part of the tour or if it was a suggestion for later. He hoped it was the latter, but by now he recognized he didn’t have much of a read on Ms. Karlsson’s personal assistant.
As they continued, Storm got to take in some of its more entertaining features: a cinema with a screen as large as any he had seen at a commercial movie theater; a library that included Scandinavian crime-fiction masters Henning Mankell, Jo Nesbø, as well as Maj Sjöwall and Per Wahlöö, but not a trace of any hornet’s-nest kicking, fire-playing tattooed girls; a three-level swimming pool complex that included a waterfall, a lagoon, and four hot tubs, from an intimate two-seater to one that looked like it could accommodate a full party; and an indoor health club that included an assortment of weight machines, cardiovascular contraptions, and courts for tennis and racquetball.
Some of the other recreational facilities included a retractable sea deck off the stern from which snorkelers and/or scuba divers could jump into the water when the ship was anchored; a floating dock that could be deployed for the launching of any one of several pleasure crafts, be they Jet Skis or powerboats appropriate for pulling water-skiers; and upper decks that could be used to entertain guests with skeet shooting, kite flying, or the opportunity to blast biodegradable golf balls into the great blue beyond. The helicopter pad — where, apparently, Storm had landed the night before — was on a deck near the stern, next to a sleek smokestack that was the ship’s tallest feature.
There was also a variety of dining rooms, both covered and open, to serve all manner of meals to groups both large and small; a ship’s commissary, where all the items were, naturally, free; and an inebriating assortment of bars, wet and dry, from which alcohol and other liquid concoctions could be prepared. More or less, every amenity that might be available to a person staying in a resort or on a cruise ship was accounted for.
Each room was decorated with a grandeur that staggered even Storm, no stranger to wealth or those who possessed it. Stylistically, each had its own design aesthetic, which varied widely, almost as if the boat’s owner wanted to be able to pick the era that fit her mood. Victorian could give way to modern, which in turn could give way to cubism. Influences ranged from west to east, north to south, with Russian Imperial being followed by feng shui being followed by African folk art.
If there was a common theme, it was simply opulence. Everywhere he went Storm caught glimpses of rare antiquities, the finest furnishings or priceless artwork. Any one of the pieces might have been the jewel of another person’s collection. Here, they were commonplace. At times, Storm could scarcely believe that everything he was seeing was floating on a ship that could go anywhere it wanted across seventy-five percent of the Earth’s surface.
But, no, they were definitely on a boat. At one point they passed another ship, calling out to it with three loud blasts of what sounded like a more mellow version of a trumpet.
“What is that supposed to be? A trombone?”
Tilda laughed. “You’re close. That’s actually meant to mimic the sound of a French horn. Ms. Karlsson loves the sound of a French horn and one of the touches she insisted on when commissioning this ship was that it signaled other ships with something that sounded like a French horn. She really did think of all the details.”
The tour ended in the ship’s bridge, which was, to a gearhead like Storm, the most impressive part. It was less a wheelhouse in the traditional sense and more of a command center, decked out with walls full of computers and digital screens. The Warrior Princess’s gadgetry was every bit as advanced as anything Storm had seen on a warship, in some cases even more advanced than the U.S. Navy vessels Storm had been aboard. Ingrid Karlsson obviously didn’t have to worry about any sequesters.
The ship’s defenses were particularly impressive. Like Xena herself, this Warrior Princess was equipped for a fight. There was the human security force, which consisted of barrel-chested men — Storm had seen three or four — wearing the blue-and-white uniforms that Karlsson favored. Storm was actually surprised there weren’t more of them, but only until he was shown the electronic security, which was far more formidable.
Storm listened as the first mate ran through some of its features. Radar, of course. Sonar, both passive and active. Lidar for anything any of those systems missed. Surface-to-air missiles that could knock out anything that tried to approach from the air. Torpedoes that could handle anything coming from the water, either on top of it or below it. And they were all linked to an automated advanced detection system that was at the ready 24-7, whether humans were monitoring it closely or not.