Captain Stanley “Pike” Chelingham sat on a chair in the gloom of the Killjoy’s first deck, oblivious to the sweltering air. Above him he could hear the clatter of the crew at work on the main deck, preparing for the upcoming mission. They were a good crew, well-oiled and highly trained over the years, needing almost no direction from him or the other officers of the ship. He drummed his fingers on the side table, listened to the rhythmic clatter of his finger tips. He hated working with outsiders.
The square of light on the main deck suddenly darkened, and his first mate, Portnoy Witherspoon clambered down the steep ladder and stood in the beam from above, his feathered cap shading his eyes from the light pouring down all around him.
“He’s coming on board, now,” Portnoy said, stepping out of the light beam and into the humid dankness. “You sure you want to let him on? I don’t trust their kind.”
Pike stood from his chair. “Sharktooth says this is the only way. The forces are too strong here for his ways, and this is the last place on earth for us to check. So, we’ll have to risk it.”
Pike walked over to the bulkhead and looked through the small circular window at the small island outside. Nearby, a mid-sized motorboat bobbed at anchor, its engine at a low idle, a dull moan drowned out by the lapping water and the occasional call of an overhead sea bird. Standing at the bow of the ship, Pike watched a man with a large rifle lean against the railing, confident in his position of power and worried about nothing.
“But don’t worry, Port ol’ boy, we’ve the upper hand here should it come to anything,” Pike said, turning from the window. “It won’t, though, they want what we want from all this.”
“They want the man, what do they care of anything else? The eye is useless to them,” Portnoy said.
“It is only useless to them ‘cause they don’t know what use it has,” said Sharktooth, emerging from behind a heavy canvas curtain in the darkness of a nearby corner. “We only know it’s somewhere in here because he’s been trying to use it for something. Otherwise, we’d still be sailing the seven seas looking for him.”
From above, there was a brief tune through a whistle followed by a measure of steps across the deck. Petty Officer Thurmond Desille leaned into the square of light and called down.
“Cap’n, the Arabs have come aboard, sir, shall I send ‘em down?” Thurmond asked.
“Yes, Thurmond, have our guests come down,” Pike said, his eyes sweeping over Sharktooth and Portnoy. “Behave yerselves and we’ll be through in no time. Don’t let ‘em trick you out of no information. Stay quiet and on task.”
Sharktooth raised a finger, “And don’t let him touch you.”