ORIGINAL FICTION: "Climbers" (Chapter Twenty-Four)

protective roof. Darn- this thing really wants to go! Ray got it turned around in the yard and pointed toward the road. Sam just smiled and waved. He really was looking forward to playing with that lawyer- The Citiot.
Ray was out of Lyndon and headed to the north east toward that infamous Interstate before he looked at the gas gauge. Empty. Empty? Maybe it's broke. Then again, maybe not. Everything else on the truck worked. Sam was a mechanic. This truck was about out of gas. Oh, boy. Ray did something you never hear guys do- but he did. Just this once. He would never tell any one that he did it, so don't you. He turned the truck around and drove back to Lyndon for gas. Sure, it goes against all the Guy Rules, but hey, that's just the sort of wild, map-cap kind of guy he was. Besides, he really didn't want to run out of gas. Not this time. Not now.
Heading, as near as he could tell, in an easterly direction out of Grand Central Station, Steve Vaan settled back into the cab's rear seat and tried to look interested in what the cab driver was saying. Apu- Steve's unspoken name for the driver whose real name took several alphabets to convey across his license mounted behind the front seat- was rattling away in his native tongue. Just as though Steve could understand it. It was sheer luck that Steve had uttered a few words the driver understood. Never mind that it was only one of three languages he had tried before he got a response. And never mind that Steve's command of that language was barely enough to get him from a given airport to a given hotel- maybe. In Apu's mind, he had found a long-lost friend. Time for a little chat.
Watching out the window, Steve soon realized he wasn't going to be able to see where he was headed until he got there. Tall ships are effectively hidden by taller buildings. And these were the tallest. You could hide your Saturn V collection here. Who'd notice? He kept looking anyway. Force of habit. Apu kept talking. Also force of habit.
The cab was headed toward a place where the East River starts to think about joining the Atlantic Ocean: The piers. To say that ships from all over the world docked there would almost be an understatement. It was hard to believe that they were only confined to one planet. Everything was there. Some would leave today and more would be here tomorrow. A few were coming in right now, passing those that left earlier. One last sharp left- followed by a right to keep from flying off the end of a pier- and the cab was sailing past the terminals next to the docks. Steve was so wrapped up in looking at the huge hulls he forgot that maybe he should get Apu to try the brakes and slow down. Stop, even. Then again, he had no idea what language Apu had responded to earlier. He tired a few and yes, the car came to a halt. Apu's non-stop dialogue had not. Steve looked at the meter and fished out a few bills- like twice the fare. Apu saw the money and proceeded to grin like an idiot- without slowing the flow of whatever it was he had been saying for the last twenty minutes. Steve handed over the cash, thanked the happy man in English and hauled his bags out of the cab. Hasta la Vista, Appie. Namaste. Whatever.
Alone- at last- on the pavement, Steve began walking back away from the cab and toward the closest terminal. He waved, the driver waved and the cab was gone. Whew. What was that all about? Man, that guy could talk. Didn't understand a word. Could have been the meaning of life or next week's winning lottery numbers. Who'd know? Steve stopped for a better look around the piers near the current center of his universe. He had two choices close at hand: Upriver, a cruise ship. Large, glitzy and colorful. Very nice. But was it really going anywhere? Don't those things usually just go out and come back? Not exactly the trans-Atlantic fare he was looking for. Downriver? What was that thing? Kind of an odd industrial green, and big enough, but what? Not quite a freighter, certainly