A/N: heya fellas! never written a fic before, but i hope you like this one. i'll update with new chapters as often as i can. special thanx to my friend kip for their editing help!

Chapter One

Jim Hawkins took a long, deep breath as he stepped onto the creaking old cargo ship. He looked around cautiously, and, holding his breath, took another step forward. Although the place seemed deserted, he couldn't keep himself from flinching as the deck squealed beneath his boots. Still, he saw no signs of anyone else on board, and as such decided that this would be as good a ship as any.

Jim crept forward, looking back every so often to make sure no one was sneaking up on him. He pulled the strap of his bag higher up on his shoulder. It wasn't terribly heavy, but definitely not comfortable to be carrying. The canvas strap was starting to chafe his skin through his jacket, and he was growing anxious to find a place to hide and rest for a bit. He'd been out since the early morning hours, scouting for a suitable vessel to stow away on. A surge of anxiety struck him, and he eagerly pushed his hand into his jacket pocket, and pressed his palm against the cool, reassuring metal of the map. He sighed, relieved, and ran a trembling hand through his hair while he tried to decide where he should hide.

At first, he considered the barracks, but then decided that that would never work. There wouldn't be enough places to hide, and it would be impossible to leave without being noticed once people started boarding the ship. Then, he debated the brig. Surely no one would think to check there. Then, a knot of panic struck him in the chest, and he thought of the possibility that he might accidentally be locked in while he was sleeping. Or, worse, locked in with a dangerous criminal, with no way to escape or fight back.

So that wasn't going to work, either.

Jim sighed again. This was going to be harder than he thought; too much could go wrong, too quickly, with too little time to think. He'd have to go with his gut on this one. So he moved around the mast, slowly, and then had an absolutely wonderful idea. Eagerly, Jim moved to the nearest opening in the floor, and peeked in. The galley. It would be the perfect place to hide. Easy access to food, wouldn't constantly be occupied… perfect. Plus, he could always just hide in a barrel when the crew began to board.

Jim eased his boot onto the first step. It creaked, like everything else on the ship, and he held his breath for a few seconds and braced to run if anyone, or anything, moved below deck. But Jim heard nothing, and continued down the stairs. As he descended, he squeezed his eyes shut to help them adjust to the darkness. He opened them and blinked a few times. He could see nothing but supplies, food, and a few tables, all illuminated dimly by the yellow afternoon light seeping through the ceiling grates.

Anxious to hide himself, Jim didn't bother to check around the rest of the area before he dove behind a careful stack of crates and barrels. He was just pushing his bag behind a box of purps, when he thought he heard a heavy something behind him. He froze, too afraid to turn around. And when he finally mustered the will to do so, he felt his heart pummel itself through his stomach.

Standing directly behind him was some kind of beast. From his angle, it looked ten, no twenty feet tall. Breathing heavily, one eye gleaming in the sickly light, face wearing a nasty scowl. The thing reached down and grabbed him with a big, angry paw, and Jim came to the sudden realization that he wasn't being attacked by a beast, but rather, a man. A very tall, very robust, very… bear-like man. Jim recoiled; he tried to back away, but as soon as he tried to move backwards he found that the ground had, seemingly, ceased to be. He looked down and realized that he was being held a good four or five feet off the ground, the man's balled fist tightly gripping the collar of his shirt.

"Now, what do we have here, eh?" The man finally said, in a husky, thickly accented voice. He was definitely an experienced space-farer, from the look, smell, and sound of him. Jim felt something cold against his cheek, and he glanced over. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the shining blade of a cutlass, grinning at him.

Jim tried in earnest to explain himself, but could hardly sputter out more than a few non-connected vowels. The man raised an eyebrow, and Jim looked fearfully into into his shining eye. He realized then, that it, like the sword against his skin, was metal. Pure machinery. In fact, in the brief, stunned silence of the moment, he could hear it clicking slightly with every twitch as it peered into him. Illuminating his horrified face with a harsh golden glow.

Jim finally found his courage and opened his mouth once again to speak.

"I'm… I just.. I needed to, uh…"

The cyborg man gazed impatiently at Jim. His expression seemed to say something along the lines of, "You have five seconds to explain yourself, or I'm cutting your head off."

Jim took another deep breath.

"I was looking for a place to hide."

He couldn't think of anything else to say, he was shaking too hard, both with fear and adrenaline. Slowly, he felt himself lowered to the ground. His legs were shaking but he refused to appear deterred. He stood tall.

The man spoke.

"And why is that, lad?" His tone was unkind, but not cruel.

"I need to find something." Jim immediately wished he hadn't said that, sure that the lumbering stranger would question him further, but to his surprise he just chuckled. Jim took careful note of the fact that his sword was still drawn, though no longer pointed at his face.

Just as he was sure he was going to be thrown overboard, a little pink… well, he wasn't sure what it was. A translucent blob, with bulbous eyes that reminded Jim of a puppy, squirmed out of the cyborg's pocket and floated up to his face. The man's expression softened immediately, and he held up his empty hand to stroke the thing.

"Ah, Morphy! There ye are," he cooed.

Jim's fear diminished, and turned to pure curiosity. "Whoa… What is that thing?"

The man smiled a gap-toothed smile at him.

"He's a morph! A little shapeshifter, hah. Rescued 'im on Proteus 1 a long while back, and he took a likin' to me."

As he said this, Morph dripped off of the man's shoulder and floated down to greet Jim directly. He chirped, and nuzzled Jim's cheek; this, in turn, earned a giggle from the previously ultra-tense boy.

"Well, he seems to have taken a liking to you," the man said. His tone was soft, almost charming. He withdrew his sword, and took a long, thoughtful look at Jim. He looked at morph, who chirped. He looked back at Jim, who glared, in a weak attempt to look intimidating. The man inhaled deeply, then sighed, and smiled.

"Morph. C'mere."

Morph chittered, and floated back to the man, who looked at him and said, "Well, what do you think, hm?"

Morph nodded and chirped affirmatively in response. The man's smile widened.

"Ah, what the hell. I s'pose it wouldn't do too much harm t' let ye stay aboard, if'n yer willing t' make yerself useful."

Jim was ecstatic.

"Really? That would be just… I mean… really!?"

The man nodded again.

"What do ye say lad? We got ourselves a deal?"

Jim held out his hand.

"Deal."

The man took Jim's hand and shook it; Jim realized, with a frigid shock, that his right hand, too, was metal. Cold and clicking.

"The name's Silver," he said, giving Jim's hand a firm shake, "John Silver. But you can call me Captain Silver."

"Captain?"

"That's right," Silver said with a hearty laugh, "Captain. What else would I be?"

Jim suddenly felt relieved that he hadn't managed to piss Silver off too bad; angering a regular crew member would have been one thing, but to anger the captain would be completely different.

"And what's your name, lad?"

"My name's Jim. Hawkins."

"Alrighty then, Jimbo! Pleased t' make yer acquaintance."

Jim just nodded. He was still quite wary of this stranger, and wouldn't be eager to show him anything but the minimal amount of respect. And even then, it was only because he was the Captain, and because he had yet to kick Jim off the ship.

Morph chirped and nuzzled Silver's cheek, evidently pleased that Jim would be staying. Silver ordered Jim to collect his things, and led him back up to the deck, to show him the barracks and familiarize him with this ship that he would, in Silver's words, "spend the next few months scrubbing, stem to stern, top to bottom." Jim just raised his eyebrow, and unleashed a sarcastic "yippee," much to Silver's dismay.

"Now, I'll be toleratin' no disrespect towards me or me crew on this ship. Understood, Jim?"

Jim scowled, but nodded.

"Yes, sir."

"Captain."

"Yes, Captain."

The two stared each other down for a moment, before Silver finally broke the tense silence.

"That'll do."

Jim followed close behind Silver as they moved across the deck. Some of the crew were already beginning to board, and many of them had begun to notice the strange boy following their captain. Jim could hear whispers of suspicion, dissent. Who is he? What is he doing here? Why is he with the captain? This went on for a minute, before Silver turned suddenly, and shouted, "Zip it! The lot of ya!"

He glowered at them, and within seconds the deck was silent, except for the slow heaves of the floorboards below them.

"This here is Jim. He'll be joinin' us on this voyage," he began sternly. "And I expect ya all to leave him be."

Another murmer among the small crowd, which was now gathering around them.

Silver grinned.

"Ah, don't worry, lads. I'll be keepin' him real busy. He won't be a problem."

Some laughed quietly to themselves. Others just shrugged and walked away.

But one crewman, a tall, spindly creature, with sharp-looking claws and more legs than anyone should realistically need, approached Jim.

"And what do we have here," he sneered, face low and close to Jim's own. His hair was thin and limp, and reminded Jim of dusty cobwebs. His breath was foul, and the stench assaulting Jim's nostrils wasn't helped by the way he dragged out every other word.

Jim scowled.

"Back off, bug-brain."

The crewman snarled, and was just stepping closer to Jim (who had already braced for a fight,) when Silver stepped between the two.

"Now, gents, there's no need for that," he chortled good-naturedly. "Is, there, Mr. Scroop?"

Silver learned towards Scroop; Jim couldn't see either of their expressions, but he could see Scroop backing up, appearing anxious.

"Good," Silver barked, satisfied. "That's that, then. Come on, Jimbo."

The two continued across the deck uninterrupted. The rest of the crew had returned to their posts.

Silver lead Jim down the steps to the barracks. A room bigger than the galley, though not by much; there were uncomfortable-looking hammocks strung from the ceiling, each with a blanket tossed on it. No pillows. Silver led him to a hammock towards the back of the barracks. A dark corner all to his own. Safe.

"You can have this one. Go on, get settled in."

Jim set down his bag. Silver nodded.

"We'll be settin' off soon. Meet me in the galley after the launch, I'll give ye yer first tasks then."

Silver was just turning to leave, when Jim blurted out a tremulous "wait." Silver turned slowly back to face him, quizzical look on his face.

Jim cleared his throat.

"I, ah… Thanks. For what you did back there."

Silver raised an eyebrow. "What do ye mean, lad?"

"You let me stay on your ship. And you got that spider guy to back off. So, thanks."

Silver smiled at him.

"Didn't yer pop ever teach ye t' pick yer fights, lad?" he inquired.

Jim averted his gaze.

"Ah, I see… Father not the teachin' sort, then?"

"No. He's not. He wasn't, I mean. He was more of the 'leaving and never coming back' sort."

"Oh…"

A long moment of silence stretched between them.

"Well, so long as you're under my watch, I s'pose it wouldn't hurt t' hammer a few skills into that thick head o' yours, eh? Given that no one else is goin' to."

"Well don't do me any favors," Jim snapped. Silver only laughed.

"Oh, you can be sure of that, Jimbo. You rightly can," he remarked with a grin.

And with that, Silver turned, and left.