Page 40

“There’s a discrepancy between reported waste processing volumes and actual capacity,” she says without preamble. “Either your systems are more efficient than documented, which seems unlikely given the age of the equipment, or some waste is being discharged illegally.”
I feel a flash of irritation, not at the issue itself, but at her automatic assumption of wrongdoing. “Have you checked the maintenance logs? The primary system was upgraded last quarter.”
“I have the logs right here,” Chen interjects, pulling up a file on his tablet. “The upgrade increased efficiency by 15%, but that only accounts for part of this discrepancy.”
“How significant is the difference?” I ask, moving closer to examine the numbers myself.
“About 20% of total waste volume,” Harper says. “Most concerning are the gray water systems.”
I frown, concerned. Gray water—from sinks, showers, and galleys—should be treated before discharge, especially in sensitive areas. Most if it should be recycled and reused on board.
“Could it be an equipment, or recording error?” I ask Chen.
“Possibly. The sensors were recalibrated during the upgrade. They might be misreporting volumes.”
“Or,” Harper interjects, “waste is being illegally discharged during night hours when passengers are asleep and less likely to notice.”
The accusation is clear, and I feel a familiar frustration rising. Just when I thought we’d moved past her assumption that I’m an environmental villain...
“That would violate both company policy and international maritime law,” I reply, keeping my voice even. “I’d like to check the system, and have an engineer test it.”
“I’ve already scheduled an inspection for tomorrow morning,” Chen says. “0600 hours, before most passengers are awake.”
“I’d like to be there,” Harper says.
“As would I,” I add. “In the meantime, please pull all discharge logs for the past month, both automatic records and manual entries. And get a qualified engineer on board, use the helicopter if needed.”
Chen nods and departs to get the data, leaving Harper and me alone in the office. The anger and tension between us feel at odds with our intimate morning.
“You assume deliberate wrongdoing,” I observe once we’re alone.
“I assume nothing. I identified a discrepancy and presented the most likely explanations.”
“Including illegal dumping.”
She looks up from the blueprints, her expression challenging. “Is that not a possibility? Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I say firmly. “Whatever is happening, it’s not intentional discharge. Not on my ship.”
“Your ship,” she repeats, a hint of her earlier skepticism returning. “But not your day-to-day operations. How certain are you about every procedure being followed when you’re not looking?”
It’s a fair question, if an uncomfortable one. “I trust my team. And I vouch for their work.”
“Hence your presence at tomorrow’s inspection?”
“Yes.” I move closer, lowering my voice. “Harper, I’m not your enemy here. If there’s a problem with our systems, I want it fixed as much as you do.”
“I believe you,” she says finally. “But good intentions aren’t outcomes. If your ship is polluting, regardless of whether it’s deliberate?—”
“Then we address it and implement safeguards to prevent recurrence.” I complete her thought. “We’re on the same side.”
“Are we?” The question seems to encompass more than just the waste processing issue.
“I think we are,” I say quietly. “In more ways than you want to admit.”
Her cheeks flush, but she maintains eye contact. “Let’s stick to the shit flowing into ocean for now.”
“Fine. Boundaries until we resolve this.” I gesture to the blueprints. “What else have you found?”