Chapter Two Prologue to an Epilogue

CHAPTER TWO

Later, in a small Robo-Constable Holding Station on Crescentia Space Port, things were going considerably less in their favour.
"So you're telling us," the Robo-Constable said in as sardonic a tone he could muster from his mechanical voice-box, "that a special portal transported you across the galaxy in the nick of time?"
"Yes!" Delbert Doppler was ragged with frustration. These blasted robots would be the death of him! Suddenly he had extra empathy for Jim for dealing with them so often.
"And you don't have any illegal transportation devices aboard that ship of yours?" the second growled, his role as Robo Bad-Cop taken very seriously.
"Well, actually it's not mine -" Doppler stopped, wincing as the Constables looked at one another as snidely as a pair emotionless droids were able.
"So you didn't service the ship yourself, Doctor?" Good Robo-Constable asked, staring down at Doppler as he fidgetted with his sideburns.
"Well... not exactly, no..."

The circus of a crowd in Amelia's private room at the tiny hospital on Cresentia might have been fun to entertain, had they not been asking some fairly difficult questions. Her head pounding, Captain Amelia did her utmost to answer the prying reporters. It was getting a little tedious, though.
"Do you have any proof that Treasure Planet ever existed?" A lanky woman - a chameleon - leaned forward and thrust a small microphone towards the captain. "Rhonda Frost, Supernova News Network."
"Well -" Amelia thought of mentioning the treasure Jim had shown them, claiming he had managed to grab a handful. They would probably take it from him. "...No, none at all, I'm afraid."
"How do you expect us to believe this miraculous tale?" a grouchy looking old frog with an unfeasibly large moustache interrupted Rhonda before she could prod Amelia further.
"I don't expect you to," Amelia cut back sharply, one eyebrow raised. "But if you don't, I suggest you leave now as you won't hear any other story from me."
"Captain!" Rhonda again. "Is it true you endangered and lost almost all of your crew on the journey?"
An icy silence followed, as Amelia weighed the question in her mind. Yes, plenty of pirates had died. Mutinous scumbags, the lot of them!
"A few pirates were killed in the proceedings. And one of my crew," Amelia replied at last, leaving the details untold. She didn't want them to ask about Mr. Arrow.
"Pirates!" Rhonda was nearly salivating. "What happened to them? Did they try to steal the ship?"
"They made a bid for the treasure, and lost their own lives for their greed. Those who managed to escape have been handed over to the authorities."
As if on cue, the door burst open and two standard issue Robo-Constables rolled in. The whistled shrilly at the crowds, and Amelia's hands flew to her ears at the sound sliced into her already aching brain.
"Everybody must leave now!" the first barked as they rolled forwards to clear the doorway.
"Everyone except the suspect, that is," added the second, gesturing for the press to leave.
"Suspect?" Rhonda Frost was on them in an instant, her buggy eyes popping out even further than usual at the prospect of a juicy story. "Is the good captain on trial for murder?"
"Has she murdered someone?" The Robo-Constable was definitely not used to dealing with members of the press. Usually one of his superiors, likely a live person, would release a statement to the tabloids.
"Ma'am, we'll deal with the criminal," the second constable added officially, signalling towards the door for a second time.
Grumbling and scribbling in their notebooks, the crowd trooped out in single file. Before the door had closed behind the last one, the Robo-Constables were at Amelia's bedside.
"We have to ask you a few questions, ma'am." Fantastic. More bloody questions.

Forty-eight hours of answering the same questions with the same answers with the same skeptical look in response had taken it's toll on everyone. Nobody wanted to talk about the adventure any more, not even Sarah Hawkins. The atmosphere in Dr. Doppler's cluttered home was tense at best, and arguments flared quickly.
Jim Hawkins sat moodily by the window, the pile of books he was balanced on swaying every so often. He stared at the stars, hardly believing that days ago he had been on the greatest adventure of his life - and now he was back on Montressor. Stuck between Robo-Constables and his mother.
Not to mention the captain. She was so restless in Doppler's home that she often disappeared and wandered around outside by herself. When she wasn't out there - where Jim preferred her to be - she was between cursing John Silver's name and spitefully hissing about the press. Every time she talked about Silver, Jim ticked slightly closer to smacking her. He could see her below, star-gazing like him. She was probably thinking of ways she could catch Silver. Probably wanted a reward, or something. Heh, she'd never catch the old spacerat. He was too -
"Jim," Doppler's voice below startled the boy from his reverie. The doctor had been oddly mopey since the return, as well. Jim barely saw him either, unless it was the back of his head while his nose was in a book.
"Hey Doc," the boy greeted casually, covering the temper he had been working himself into as best he could.
"You haven't - er - seen the um...the captain, have you?" Doppler shifted his weight slightly, blinking.
Jim didn't understand how one man could be so nervous, but he supposed it wouldn't be 'proper' to ask.
"Outside," he replied curtly, thumbing towards the window. "Again."
Doppler sighed, inching closer to a window to peer down at Amelia. "Ah, I see. So she is. I'll just, er... thanks, Jim." He hobbled away again and reappeared moments later outside with Amelia, his nervous babble carrying up to the window. "Oh, er, hello, Captain..." His attempts at flirting were almost laughable. Shaking his head, Jim hopped to the floor with no enthusiam, and fell onto the pile of blankets Doppler had offered as a surrogate bed. He lay still for approximately two seconds before the boredom overtook him and, with a cry of frustration, he leapt to his feet and kicked at the floorboards. He knew that while he was trapped in the good doctor's house in the middle of small town Benbow, old John Silver was out there somewhere, chasing his dreams and having the time of his life.

John Silver had never felt so alone in all his life. Floating along the etherium somewhere, trying vainly to find a planet in the empire that wouldn't be covered in his wanted posters, Silver's thoughts once again turned to young Jim Hawkins. He was beginning to feel giving up Morph to him was a mistake, but he knew somewhere in the heart he had forgotten that Jim needed the company more than he. He had been a lot like Jim when he was younger. Full of a lot of dreams, a lot of ambitions, but no opporunities. He would have given all the treasure on Treasure Planet (save, perhaps, just a few drubloons to keep himself going) to make sure Jim took every chance he got. He didn't want another useless old cyborg roaming the skies thirty years from now.
Useless old cyborg.
He could have been more, done more, like Jim. If he'd only had the chance. Feeling sorry for himself, small (comparitively) and alone in the middle of the vast, hostile etherium, Silver tried to remember where it had all gone wrong.

John was fifteen when his parents died. He couldn't remember how it happened - he hadn't seen it. Jack just woke him up one morning and said, "Looks like it's just you an' me from now on, kid." That's what Jack had been like. He was a survivor.
John didn't remember crying - he didn't remember much - but he did know that Jack had taken him to the space port shortly after. There was some bar on the edge of the port, near the etherium, where Jack left him. He couldn't remember the name, but it seemed very big, and very busy; full of staring eyes all fixed accusingly in his direction. He had been nervous, he knew that much. He was underage, but big for fifteen so the barkeep said nothing when he ordered a Phenalyne beer-drink. He perched uncomfortably on a stool at the counter, and waited for Jack. He had promised he wouldn't come back to the - what was the name of that pub? - until he had found jobs for both of them (some childish part of John's mind had imagined what would happen if Jack fulfilled this promise), and was trying to get them hired on pirate ships. He wasn't sure if Jack had known they were pirate ships at the time, but he had a strong suspicion that it wouldn't bother him one way or the other.
The sudden deaths, leaving home, his first ever job, his first ever drink - his mind was absorbed in so much teenage thought that he didn't notice the man sitting beside him right away. He was an unusual creature - John didn't have an education, and didn't recognise the race - but he would have been unusual if he were human or feline. He had a large shell covering his back which showed through his tattered cloak, and long, awkward limbs which hung loosely beneath him. John had never seen anything like him before. A spacer's hat cast a deep shadow across his face, making his age difficult to judge. He was probably in his fifties or sixties, but the dark rings under his eyes made him seem a lot older. He stared around the bar with his small, suspicious eyes, and started at objects only he could see. He was hunched over his drink, clutching it with two shaking hands as he muttered into it wildly. John wasn't sure if he was drunk or just crazy. The man turned his long neck to look at John, and grinned madly. "He's dead."
John choked on his beer. "What'd ya say?"
The creature leaned forward, his neck snaking its way out of his shell as if it had a life of its own. He pushed his face so close to John's that he could smell the drink on his breath. "He was a-chasin' me for fifty-five years," he confided, "I've been hidin', ya know, for fifty-five years. But he's dead now; he can't chase me no more. He can't kill us all if he's dead."
"Yeah, lay off the Nurputian Whiskey there, mate," John groaned, edging away from the man.
"I knew his secrets, I KNEW ALL HIS SECRETS!" he hissed, retracting his neck.
The bartender, who had been watching them both suspiciously, approached John. "Dun' ya be mindin' ol' Billy Bones there, pup. He's jus' an' ol' man who's seen the bot'um o' too many a glass. Been in ev'ry day fer near two years now. Crazy ol' chap. Jus' sits there, talkin' away ta himself all day long."
Billy Bones seemed to ignore this analogy, muttering something under his breath, but John gave a brief nod of appreciation and the bartender, satisfied, walked away. Where was Jack now anyway? What was taking so long?
"Thinks I'm a crazy ol' git, that Jones," Billy grumbled loudly. "Thinks I dun' know nothin', but I've seen more than he ever will. Had ma paws on a king's ransom, I did, still have it all!" He chuckled loudly at this, then suddenly dropped low to the counter again, a look of fear crossing his eyes. "Ol' Flint would kill me if he knew, he's coming after me, he's gonna kill me for what I done!" He stopped, relaxed. "But he's dead."
John paused at the name and his attention turned back to the babbling old man. "Flint?" It seemed familiar somehow, but he couldn't place it.
Billy nodded and leaned in closer, his grotesque neck stretching across the gap between them. "Aye, Flint. Scurge o' the sea, they called him, but he liked me, he did. Was careful what he said roun' me, but I heard it. I heard what he didn' say an' I heard what he did say. Ol' Billy Bones was a spy in his day, he was. Ya had ta be a spy roun' Flint."
John stared into his mug as Billy continued hissing his obscure secrets. Where had he heard the name before?
Flint, he remembered finally, Captain Nathaniel Flint, was a pirate captain who pillaged a thousand ships and a thousand worlds. He could appear out of air before you noticed and disappear from sight before you could stop him. He had read the stories enough times as a child, and the myths were flooding back to him now. Somehow he stole enough treasure to last a million men a million lifetimes, or so the stories said. And the stories said no one ever knew what happened to it all - or to Flint. Stories. Just stories.
The interest in John's eyes died. "You're a crazy ol' man," he resolved, turning away.
"It's true," Billy whispered, "it's all true. An' no one asks Billy what happened, an Billy dun' tell no one. But it's all true." He took a finalising swig of his drink, and said nothing more.
Lifes can change in a moment, in a word. Jack still wasn't back. Humorously, John said, "What ya tryin' ta tell me, ol' man?"
"I took the key when I left, ya see," he continued in a hurried whisper, as if he were confessing to a priest. "I took it so he couldn't chase me, an' I hid it an' I made sure nobody else could find it. It trapp'd him there, ya see; he'd kill me if he knew, he'd come after me and slit my throat, and he'd take my chest..." He looked around the bar darkly, as if any of the customers might try this same move, and pulled a small trunk off the floor and into his lap, hugging it protectively. Then, the dark look cleared from his face and he remembered, "But he's dead!"
The trunk beneath Billy's quivering hands was as old as he, covered in strange hieroglyphics John had never seen.
Again, the old man had caught his interest. "Wha's in the chest?"
Billy froze, his cold eyes turning on John. "Young pups be best not askin' too many questions of ol' Billy Bones. I've seen too much, an' I've done too much, an' I dun want ta answer fer any of it."
This answer, suprisingly sincere, caught John offguard. Quietly, turning his back on the old man like the other regulars, John began to muse over Billy's odd responses. He knew, although he couldn't explain it, that there was something more to him than the others could see, and he'd be the son of Benbonian if he wasn't the one to crack it.
A man named Flint - Captain Flint? - had supposedly been chasing him for fifty-five years (hadn't the pirate attacks been reported fifty or sixty years ago?), because Billy had stolen something important from him, a key did he say? If Billy really had been involved with Captain Flint - and what were the chances? - then he would have had to have worked on the same ship as him to find out all his secrets, he would have had to be a pirate. Unless he was a really clever Robo-Constable (and John doubted Billy was a clever anything). But whatever had happened to the old man, he was very protective of the chest. And John wanted to know why.
"So, Billy sir, what makes you think CAPTAIN Flint wants this 'key' back anyway?"
Billy began without a flinch. "Ooh, the cap'n needs the key to open the door, ya see. It's the only way inta the treasure."
"The treasure?" John prompted excitedly.
"Dun' ya be askin' me abou' the treasure!" Billy snapped, slamming his clawed fist on the bartop. "Yer jus' like the cap'n! That's all he cared abou'! He jus' sat there, laughin' and grinnin' like the Devil hisself, grabbin' at it, and strokin' it, and refusin' ta let us near it! Ah, I'm better ta be away from him, he woulda kill'd us all! I heard him plottin' it," his voice was a whisper again, "I heard him plottin' it in his quarters, an' I tol' the men, an' I took the map so he'd never get out. I took it an' I hid it where no one can get it till I'm dead an' gone!" He clutched at his trunk again, laughing manically, and John thought then that he understood. He was about to ask another question when a voice behind him slurred, "Ah, leave the ol' man alone!"

Silver shook his head then, the memories fluttering back to their respective dark corners. The fight that had gone on in that bar had taught Silver a valuable lesson about picking his fights right, and keeping his voice low. If Jack hadn't come in, he 'd have been in a slew of trouble.
With a sigh, Silver glanced around. The etherium certainly was a quiet place to be, at the best of times. It shocked him to think that he empathised with that old cabin boy, Billy Bones, now. He must have spent years out here, thinking of people he used to know and things he could never change. Things that had changed him for the worst - like Captain Flint's treasure.
Silver fiddled with the navigation controls uneasily, imagining himself hulking into a bar and talking to anyone who would listen, even impressionable pups who didn't know their right from left, never mind wrong. Funny, really, that a chance meeting thirty years earlier could leave him where he was then. He hoped that Jim, thirty years on, would have better memories of Long John Silver than he did of Billy Bones.


To be continued!