10: Brice
Brice
“Start, you b****y stupid machine!”
Brice slammed his fist onto the coving around the terminal, then kicked the support. All that got him was a sore hand and pain in his toes.
Should’ve kept his boots on. But he’d reckoned the sea air would be good for his aching feet. So far, it only made them sting.
And the boat refused to start.
He wiped his brow, stared at the terminal again. It showed a bank of controls, with tags that expanded when he touched them—location, black water (whatever that was), power. Maintenance stuff, and technical data. Nothing simple, nothing that would make the boat move under its own power.
It was about ten metres long, and Brice had paced the whole length far too many times now. There was a set of three steps that led down into a living spa
