“We defended ourselves with the materials at hand,” Ryan replied with mock seriousness. “Our cook had rigged up a catapult to launch biodegradable garbage bags off the deck. He's a medieval weapons buff, so he developed a gadget similar to a trebuchet that had a sur- prising range. When the cruiser tried to cut us off, we nailed it with a direct hit, much to our surprise. And theirs” He paused and with per- fect comic timing said, “There's nothing like being slimed with potato peels, eggshells and coffee grounds to take the wind out of your sails.”

Laughter rippled through the group.

The BBC reporter said, “Aren't you worried that antics of that sort add to the reputation given to the Sentinels of the Sea as one of the more radical environmental and animal rights groups? Your organization has freely admitted to scuttling whaling ships, blocking waterways, spray-painting baby seals, harassing sealers, cutting drift nets...”

Ryan raised his hand in protest. “Those were pirate whale ships, international waters, and the other stuff you mentioned we can doc- ument as legal under international agreements. On the other hand, our ships have been rammed, our people gassed and shot at and ille- gal arrests made.”

“What do you say to those people who call you a terrorist organi- zation?” a reporter from The Economist said.

“I would ask them: What could be more terrifying than the cold- blooded slaughter of fifteen hundred to two thousand defenseless pilot whales each year? And I would remind them that no one has ever been hurt or killed by an SOS intervention.” Ryan flashed his smile again. “C'mon, folks, you've met the people on this ship.” He gestured toward an attractive young woman who had been standing apart from the others, listening to the discussion. “Tell me honestly, does this lady look scary?”

Therri Weld was in her mid-thirties, of medium height, with a compact, well-proportioned body. The faded jeans and workshirt she wore under her baggy windbreaker did little to disguise her ath- letic but distinctly feminine figure. An SOS baseball hat covered chestnut hair whose natural curl was made even more pronounced by the damp air, and her gentian eyes were alert and intelligent. She stepped forward and gave the press corps a bright smile.

“I've already met most of you,” she said, in a voice that was low but clear. “So you know that when Marcus doesn't have me slaving away as a deckhand, I'm a legal advisor to SOS. As Marcus said, we use direct action as a last resort. We pulled back after our last en- counter in these waters to pursue a boycott of Faroe fish.”

"But you still haven't stopped the grinds/9 the BBC reporter said to Ryan.