He smiled; his ship, the Gaia Warrior, was Earthpeace’s largest purpose-built electric sailing yacht on the water, and was a marvel of engineering. She was a one hundred and fifty-foot trimaran motor sail yacht with an A-frame mast and sails, and a full electric drive system that was silent as it was near emission free. Everything about her was kind to the planet. Her superstructure was made from recycled timber beams, and the hull was old PET plastic bottles pressed into shape. They even had biological treatment of sewage and an environmentally-friendly paint job. It made Olander and his young crew feel good just sitting inside it.

An appropriate chariot for the saviors of the planet, he thought. And if some knuckle-dragging types objected or got in their way, well, no matter what action they took, he was confident history would be on their side.

Olander composed himself and straightened, knowing image was everything to his impressionable, young crew. He turned, a smile spreading against his round cheeks. “Well then, if a band of pirates comes onto our turf, then I say we meet with cutlass, cannon, and hearts of lions. Who’s with me?”

The cheer was near deafening in the bridge room, and Olander leant down towards Annabel. “Alert our friends in the media. This is going to look great on the news.” He straightened. “Plot an intercept course and full speed ahead. We’ve got a date with destiny.”

Olander tapped a knuckle against his chin as his mind worked. Annabel still hovered close by, absolute adoration in her wide-eyed gaze. “Annie, get Jupiter and Milo to take ‘Tweety’ up. Let’s have a little look at these guys up close.”

She scampered away and Olander took control of the wheel. The Slava was only a day away if they powered towards each other at full speed. He had plenty of time. Tweety would give him an idea of how he could craft a physical response that would maximize his media grab, and cause her the most benign damage. He only cursed the good weather. Idyllic calm, blue seas didn’t ramp up the tension like the cold iron-gray swells of the Antarctic.

Olander leaned forward to look at his sunbathers. Still, the warm weather had its advantages. He could only pray the ships would meet each other closer to dusk – darkness and dark water was perfect new’s optics.

He saw the small yellow chopper’s blades begin to turn. Tweety was a bubble-cockpit Hughes 500. It was a small, but maneuverable helicopter. But its key strengths were it could travel a long way on little gas, and was as fast as a hornet.

“Go get em, Tweet,” he whispered.

*   *   *

The Russian Mi-8T helicopter pulling the Slava had been released and had headed off into the sky. Its work was done, fuel low, and the ship was now benefiting from entering the strong Californian current.