[h1]South China Sea[/h1]
[h2]Somewhere around the Parcel Islands[/h2]

	They had shut off the engine some time back. Now they say adrift in the open ocean. The sun overhead beat down a solid head upon the deck and the bedraggled sailors had retreated to what shade they could to wait it out. They could not go below deck, it was much hotter in there than it was above, the old oil-soaked wood acting as insulation to trap and hold the afternoon heat. So they all sat huddled in the shade of the tarpaulin shaded cabin at the stern of the boat.

	Resting their arms on their knees they sat idly watching the few men on deck as they stood at the bow and walked the open deck. Several had binoculars in their hands as they scanned the horizon. They watched because they were the only interesting thing. Besides the seagulls there was nothing else living around them, and even then the gulls were an infrequent quest who only came to rest or shit on their heads. Noticing they were not here to fish, they flew off quickly into the afternoon day, laughing and cackling in their shrill voices as they flapped away.

	For the past couple of days the crew had bobbed about in the sea in search of freighters. But in so far much of what they found had been on their way north, to Japan, or south to the Strait of Malacca or Australia or Indonesia. But there was very little that flowed west from the heart of the Pacific. Most times, they would see a ship on the horizon who seemed to go in that direction but drawing close they would see the white flag and red sun of the Japanese empire and they would back off as quietly as they had come, keeping a safe difference so as to not threaten the Japanese navy.

	“How long have you been in the Bureau?” a sailor asked Huang Du, who lay with his head resting against the helm. The tone of the sailor's question was innocent and conversational. So beyond the initial broach Du realized he had little need for strict caution.

	“A while.” he answered plainly.

	“A while, huh? How long is a while?”

	“A span of time of some considerable length.” Huang Du began, “I would say certainly sometime after the Revolution ended and before today.”

	The sailor laughed, “Fuck, you're a smart ass cunt.” Huang Du shrugged, “I don't have a lot of liberty to say. I don't wan to give myself that much liberty either.”

	“Well, why not?” the sailor asked.

	“Information is a weapon. That's the weapon we specialize in. So if I let you know too much then you might have an edge. You understand?”

	“That's something shitty, but sure: I get it.” the sailor grumbled.

	“Ten years.” Huang Du responded.

	The sailor at first was taken aback and his thought process stalled for a moment before he realized what that answer was to. “Ten years?” the sailor asked. Huang Du nodded.

	“Damn, how fucking old are you?”

	“Thirty-eight.” Huang Du looked askew to Arban. He was busy leaning over the side of the ship with his head lowered. His coat was gone and now all he wore was his field pants and a white loose-hanging under shirt. In the heat and the sun the shirt had been sweated through and it clung to his back in one large sticky patch. The rest of him looked disheveled and ill. But Huang Du could not say he was entirely alone in that, he too felt ill and beaten from the thus-far short journey, he had done away with his uniform coat, turning it into a pillow and he sat with his boots off and set up alongside him; playing as a holder to a canteen of water. “He's forty-five.”

	“And how long as he been in?” the sailor asked, referring to Arban

	“A lot longer than I.”

	“Let me guess, you don't have liberty to talk much about him?”

	Huang Du nodded. “If he wants to answer that he'll answer that. I may have overstepped.” admitted Huang Du, “Why do you want to know?”

	“Curiosity.” the sailor said, “I've heard the Bureau sometimes recruits from the army. Service veterans and the like. What are my chances?”

	Huang Du smiled and laughed. Shaking his head he leaned his head against the helm council and sighed, “Well that depends on you. You need to be quizzed, exercised. Your record meanwhile will need to be examined. A lot of research done. And if they like how you did and how you are then you get two or three years of education.”

	“Shit, is it a fucking university?” the sailor said, stunned. He was frankly appalled at the thought. He believed if anything, he may move from one to another and move his career forward. He was feeling stuck in the Navy. But he didn't want to be tied up in college.

	“More like an academy. Drilling, studying. Officer level stuff.”

	“Sounds like college.” the sailor said.

	Huang Du laughed. To not achieve higher merit? This was absurd, he believed. “Well why not?” he asked.

	“My twat of a dad wanted me to read a lot. So he had me read, a lot.” the sailor said, in simple terms, “He fucking brought me all the books he could find, anything not ruined or too expensive or what he could get on loan. And he'd bring them to me and make me read them after chores. Fucker wouldn't let me outside to have a life of my own. The navy was my way to get the fuck away from him, and from his damn books.” the sailor was bitter.

	Huang Du nodded. He couldn't pretend to understand, but he could try to be sympathetic, at least on the surface. He could claim to be sorry for him, nor angry. “So what then, if not education?” he asked.

	“I don't fucking know.” the sailor answered. And he didn't. When he saw Huang Du was expecting an answer he was himself stunned and began thinking. He had never thought much of it before, so he began probing. Huang Du was patient, and took the moments of silence to close his eyes as the boat drifted along silent, flat seas.

	“I suppose I could...” the sailor began, his voice trailing off, “Become a mechanic, or a train driver. Maybe go into martial arts, be a master myself...”

	“To be a master you'll need to pay one, so you'll need to work at something.” Huang Du said, eyes still close.

	“I know, I know.” the sailor said, “But I never had to think about it.”

	“It's a good idea to think about it.” Huang Du told him, half-opening his eyes and looking up at the light as filtered through a tattered blue tarp.

	“All I've wanted really was excitement.” said the sailor, “Something to do, away from the villages. No books, no monotony. Just something to do that's new day to day. I thought maybe I could have it in the navy, but my expectations haven't been met. So really, why look for adventure and not get it. Might as well when I step on shore to never come back to sea, I might as well live a boring life; settle down into some work, get my apartment, get married, get the bigger one, raise a family, die.”

	“That's a really noble life goal.” said Huang Du, flatly.

	“Really?” the sailor asked.

	“In some areas.”

	“Shit.”

	“Well don't beat yourself up too much about it.” Huang Du consoled him, “I've known people who go out to seek stability, get adventure. Or they want adventure and end up in over their heads. They see so much they want the normal life. But that adventure they wanted, it keeps haunting them.”

	The sailor nodded. “How about your partner.” pointing over to Arban who still leaned sickly over the edge of the boat, “How in deep do you think he is in 'adventure'?”

	“I think we plunged him over the deep end.” Huang Du laughed.

	The sailor laughed too. They both laughed. It felt good. “But what's this I hear about Vietnam?” asked the sailor, “Sounds like something's being prepared.”

	Huang Du nodded. “Maybe. You may actually get the excitement you came in for!” he exclaimed.

	“Perhaps. If it's found out whose supplying the factions or whatever in Vietnam, you think a blockage will be called?”

	“That sounds like you'd want that.”

	“It's better than prowling the bays and the ports, looking for fishermen that go out in their row boats to trade in smuggled goods.”