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“It's a composting toilet,” Maggie was explaining a few minutes later, the two of them squashed together in the tiny compartment. There was a latch, then a lid, then a familiar looking seat, bowl and cistern. Once Maggie had shown Rachael how to open the contraption, Rachael needed no more instructions, but Maggie kept on explaining. “You see, on the Raft, we literally shit where we eat. With fish being our only significant source of protein, water quality is no laughing matter out here. So many of us invested in one of these.” Maggie tapped the toilet. It looked something like an industrial coffee machine crossed with a deck chair. “It's sort of a toilet and septic tank in one. Poop and pee in, clean water out.”
Maggie seemed rather proud of the device.
“Okay,” Rachael said with a smile.
“Yes,” Maggie nodded.
“Okay,” Rachael said again, more forcefully.
“Okay,” Maggie nodded again.
“I get it. Composting toilet. Thanks.”
“Oh,” Maggie got the hint. She squeezed back out of the concertina door and closed it behind her.
Rachael unbuckled her belt and tentatively lowered herself down onto the coffee machine/deck chair.
“So, it seems like we wasted a morning and came full circle,” Rachael said through the slatted door. “The more we learn, the more things point back to Horus.”
“It's interesting,” Maggie said from out in the main cabin. “How Chemical's and Tea Queen's stories compare.”
“You said that Chemical's story was patently ridiculous. Bullshit, was your choice of words, if I remember.”
“Oh, most certainly. Tea Queen's story is so much more plausible. But what interests me is not where the stories differ, but where they intersect. Both Chemical and Tea Queen said Meerkat was sneaking back to shore on a regular basis. Why, they disagreed on, but they both mentioned the fact. And the idea that Meerkat was doing so with Horus's blessing, even his active assistance.”
“So?” Rachael stood up and adjusted her clothing. Now, exactly how to flush a composting toilet...
“So, what was she doing onshore? Blackmailing a US Senator or attending AA? Both seem rather fantastic...”
“You think it was something else?” Rachael found a handle that, if she was the designer, would have flushed the toilet. She pushed it and the lid slapped closed. There was a gurgling sound, not a flush. Rachael dithered.
“Meerkat was obviously lying to Horus or Tea Queen. Why not both? No, I think you're right. We've spent the morning and ended right back where we started.”
“Perhaps we should do what Tea Queen suggested.” Rachael washed her hands and opened the door. “Head to dryland and look for Horus.”
“Mmm...” Maggie grunted.
“Or simply head for dryland. You know, every hour we spend out here, it only grows more dangerous.”
“I can't just walk away from my responsibilities, Rachael. Meerkat was mine to take care of.”
Rachael huffed. “I know, and I'm not suggesting you shirk your responsibilities. But you know if the Rafters and the Coast Guard start trading shots, no one is going to remember Meerkat or care what happened to her. There just isn't enough time to investigate this properly.”
“There's no sign of the Coast Guard yet.”
“No, but look: you have me, that's a resource most people don't have. The press can keep something like Meerkat's death in the public eye. Married to a homicide detective, award-winning investigative journalist, I have the resources to make sure this whole affair doesn't get dropped. From the safety of shore, we could -”
“What does any dryfoot care about one dead Rafter?” an irritated Maggie interjected. Rachael bit her lip. “After this all blows over. there isn't a soul onshore who's going to think anything other than that each and every Rafter got exactly what they deserved. Meerkat, me, if you're foolish enough to still be here, you. Gone, that's all anyone on dryland wants from the Raft: for it to vanish. And whatever has to happen, how many Rafters have to wash up on the shores of the Puget Sound, they just want the job done.”
“Maggie,” Rachael tried to rest a comforting hand on Maggie's shoulder, but before Rachael could touch Maggie, Maggie was on her feet climbing back up to the cockpit.
“If there was only more time,” Maggie said as she disappeared through the companionway. “But we're almost out of it,” her voice came from above deck.
“There's time,” Rachael assured, rubbing her temples. She was making no progress. If it was possible, Rachael's presence had only doubled Maggie's resolve to stay on the Raft. Bringing up ancient history, stirring up emotions, Rachael was making a terrible mess of everything. She had to focus, appeal to Maggie's logic. Emotions were just sending Maggie deeper into the well-defended cocoon Maggie had build for herself aboard the Soft Cell. And the further Maggie pushed away from Rachael, the more danger she was getting herself into.
Rachael took a deep breath.
“No,” Maggie voice came again, urgently from above. “I mean we're out of time.”
“What?” Rachael hopped up the steps and emerged into the daylight. She followed Maggie's stare towards the skyline of the city. There at the dock line, red and blue lights were flashing. “Is that -?”
“Looks like they've resolved their jurisdictional disputes,” Maggie said coldly.
Rachael looked back over her shoulder at the silhouette of the Kalakala in the distance, and its surrounding protective island of smaller craft.
“We still have a head start. Under full sail, we might just make it back to the Kalakala before the Coast Guard,” Rachael said.
“Or we could turn hard to port.” Maggie looked to the south, towards the outcrop of land that was Alki. “Back to beach where I picked you up.”
“You know that's the smart money, Maggie,” Rachael said, hoping against hope. “No one would fault you.”
“No,” Maggie looked to the south for a long minute, shielding her eyes against the sun. “They probably wouldn't.”
Then Maggie moved into action, tightening lines and adjusting winches. Very quickly, the Soft Cell was heeling against the firm southern breeze with Maggie at the helm, a resolute look of grimness on her face.