The Galician Parallax by James G. Skinner

had been found either on the wreck or in the bungalow. Most of the retrieved articles, broken pottery, cannonballs, odd tools and other bits and pieces of ancient artefacts, were well catalogued by historians yet worthless. The European museums were overflowing with many similar samples and in much better condition than those placed in plastic bags and still kept, together with all the confiscated diving gear, by the Galician authorities in one of the court warehouses.
    The divers, continually pleading innocence, had eventually been released from prison on bail, pending trial and allowed to return to Britain. The diplomatic trouble started when the British tabloid press got hold of the story, accusing the Spanish authorities of “harassing Brits”, and the divers met up with their MPs to demand more action from the British Government.
    ‘Not only was it all over the television news broadcasts, they’ve now got the best defence lawyers in Madrid working on the case, whilst our own judges are still awaiting valuation of the junk those idiots brought up from the bottom of the sea!’
    Sergio said nothing; he felt no remorse. As far as he was concerned, his instinct was right. The bastards were after gold and didn’t find any.
Not my problem
, he thought. The colonel got up from his desk, walked round, stood in front of his subordinate as he handed him a folder and said, ‘You’re moving out of here.’
    Sergio froze. He looked down at the folder, scared of opening it.
    ‘Despite the revolution, your request for action has come through. It’s all in there. The department is sending you to Villagarcia.’
    He was about to leave, when the colonel called back at him. He grinned and gave him a thumb’s up. ‘Now get out of here!’
Mauro Shipping Agency, Vigo
    Juan Jose had no sooner signed off the clearance papers for the departure of the
Princess of the Sea
returning to Southampton from her standard Mediterranean cruise when his personal mobile starting buzzing. It was a call from his daughter Yolanda in Falmouth.
Now what
? he thought. It took a total of fifteen seconds to upset Juan Jose for the rest of the day.
    ‘I’m going to get married, Father.’
    Juan Jose was stunned as it opened up old wounds.
    He had hopes for his daughter to take over the family business and continue in their centuries-old shipping tradition. Educated at the
Carmelitas
Catholic School, she had gone on to study for an MBA at the local School of Economics, graduating with honours, eventually joining her father’s agency in an initial administrative capacity.
    She was also a 90’s swinger.
    The famous
Movida
, or “Movement”, that erupted in Spain, coinciding with the rebirth of democracy, gave rise to a new generation of partygoers that took over from their Catholic suppressed parents, opening up a new era of pleasure unknown for decades. Drugs, sex and all-night booze clubs erupted throughout the country that catered for all ages from adolescence to retirement. The new laws on divorce and abortion broke the back of all taboos that remained from the Franco dictatorship. Parents and bishops alike were outraged but were unable to draw in the reins on their offspring as they plunged into the advancing permissiveness that was enveloping the populous. Yolanda joined in the fun, overlapping work with weekend partying. Although upset, Yolanda’s father had no alternative but to accept the quasi-frivolous attitude by the emerging generations, his own daughter included. But young Yolanda’s joyous lifestyle was abruptly halted when she met Gerardo, another younger member of the Vigo “jet set”, on one of her Saturday night frolics and decided to move in with him. Twelve months of ecstatic sexual and drug activity ended in domestic violence when Gerardo returned home one evening, blind drunk and as high as a kite and savagely attacked her.
    ‘You’ve been living with the bastard for a year now and you still won’t report the son-of-a-bitch