CHAPTER 8
Jim Hawkins, the boy who had gone to Treasure Planet, built a solar surfer when he was eight, and been accepted into the Interstellar Academy on failing grades, hardly expected to be where he was at that exact moment. And Interstellar Travel Scrabble was nearly impossible to play with a Flatulan.
"Ugh, did you have to bring this stupid game?" Jim spat, frowning at Snuff's word. He had been staring at it for the past fifteen minutes, trying to place the word into a language. Jim had never seen it before, but it had no vowels in it and the letter X appeared twice.
For an entire weekend they had been stuck together with nothing to do in a longboat, stolen expertly (well, almost) from the academy. Eye Spy had gotten old very quickly, and Mr. Snuff was most unhappy about chasing comets in the longboat. Well, Jim assumed it was displeasure he had been expressing when he waved his tentacles and spat all over his companion, squelching in Flatulan at the top of his lungs. Either way, Jim hadn't attempted it since.
"We're officially out of rations," he groaned, looking into what had once been a half-full barrel of purps. Hearing this, Snuff sat bolt upright from where he had been dozing. Jim tried not to think about the fact that Snuff had been steering while he was asleep as the Flatulan barged his way towards the barrel and nearly knocked the unfortunate teenager clean overboard in the process.
He tipped the empty barrel towards Jim, declaring something with disgust.
"You're...right?" guessed Jim, quickly snatching the controls as their trajectory began to drift. Trying to explain his point, Snuff pointed towards a faint blob in the distance, hopping up and down to express his anxiety.
"A planet?" Jim frowned, wondering if they should stop. Yes, he decided, they needed food... and a half a clue about where Silver was. He had been considering, in the long silences between he and his travel-companion, that perhaps in retrospect this trip was too ridiculous, too pointless, even for him. After what felt like weeks stuck alone with Mr. Snuff, the solar surfing try-outs seemed dusty and faded memories, and Jim imagined he had been too eager to leave after his humiliation. But what had he been thinking, leaving school for days on end to play board games with a Flatulan? He didn't even know where they were, never mind where to find Silver. Their chances, he was beginning to realise, were slimmer than he had managed to convince himself.
With a nod to Snuff, Jim resolved to get to the planet, find a communicator and beg for a lift back to the Academy. With any luck, B.E.N. would pick up at home.
A sharp etherium wind sliced through the thin material of John Silver's coat and made teasing attempts to grab away the hat he was using to cover his face. The wind, to Silver, always seemed to blow colder on Phoenicus; the sun never shone there.
Already, after only two raids (and fifty newspaper articles covering them), the stores lining the small spaceport each proudly displayed a wanted poster listing his crimes. Silver smiled bitterly as he stopped to survey one. It was obviously an old holopicture - he had fewer cyborg implants and was slimmer around the chin - but he hadn't changed enough that they wouldn't recognise him. He pulled the hat further down with his good hand and walked on.
People of every possible alien race were pushing and barging their way through the busy streets. It was an easy place to get lost in, but Silver's size made him stand out from the crowd; he was a suspicious figure, but he couldn't do anything about it. He had bought oversized clothes to cover his mechanical parts. A large trenchcoat covered all of his cyborg arm if he pushed his hand deep into the pocket, and long trousers fell down past his cyborg knee, but the mechanical foot which poked out of them was enough to raise some eyebrows. He hated Phoenicus, he remembered, he always had. It was too crowded with suspicious fools to make way for any decent pubs. But after the attacks and the outrageous coverage, he had thought it better to lie low for a while, someplace no one would think of right away.
The inn his connections had set up for him was directly across from one of the docks. He stopped stiffly, staring at it for a long moment. That very dock had been firmly burned into his memory for over thirty years, the tradegy that had happened there...
He hated Phoenicus. Silver swallowed hard and walked towards the inn.
The ship Jack had managed to get them hired on was called The Avenger, a pirate ship John guessed from the look of the crew. To John, it was already crowded with far more people than it could possibly fit. He imagined them all being squashed together tightly, like Newronian Fishbriks, packed in so neatly there was no one left on Phoenicus at all, and they all had to sleep standing up because movement itself was impossible. He hated it, at first. Aliens of every race and size were fighting their way across the ship, shoving and slicing their way across the deck and not caring who they knocked over. The faces were different, but the expression was the same: emotionless, fearless, and cruel. Something glinted in their hard eyes that John didn't then recognize, but it clouded the eyes of every pirate and would eventually blind John too; a kind of ruthless greed that blocks out everything else. John would soon discover that everyone on that ship only looked out for himself, and he would have to, too.
Holding firmly onto his wrist to stop him from getting into any more trouble, Jack kicked and shoved his way through the crowd and finally into the galley downstairs. They had all been instructed to wait there while the captain called them up one by one to get their names and assign a job to them, then they would be sent to their post and would ready everything for the launch. John gathered from the hissing and muttering all around him that this system was unorthodox, even a little suspicious, and nobody appreciated this kind of invasion.
A little harder than he meant to, Jack threw John towards one of the benches and ordered him to stay put while he tried to get in with some of the crew. "It's all about who you know," Jack had said with a grimace. "Always remember that."
John couldn't stop his hands from trembling as he looked around the room. For the first time in his life, he felt small.
Behind him, two Arcadians with hard, scarred faces were talking about the strange new captain. Nobody, it seemed, had heard of him or knew of his record. No pirate had ever heard of the captain Kidd. One of the Arcadians, in a conspiring whisper, thought he may have changed his name after some big foul-up so nobody would recognize him. They planned to do the same thing.
"I'll calls meself Black Dog," one Arcadian told the other, "so he cansn't c'nnect me with the jobs in Belcodda - just in case."
"I'll telds him I'm an eng'neer," his partner replied. "So he don't hear nothin' about them rigger jobs."
John gazed around the room in what was almost awe. This was to be his life now, among Black Dogs and criminal riggers. He was a pirate. He was going to have adventures across the great etherium, go places he never thought he could go, find riches beyond his wildest desires. He didn't know if he was miserable or ecstatic. Everything had happened so quickly that it didn't seem real somehow, it was some kind of strange dream.
Standing on shaking legs, John pushed his way through the crowded galley to find Jack, to prove to himself that this was all really happening.
His brother stood at the back of the galley, part of a small group gathered around a trio of mean card-players seated at the end bench. Each bluffed a poker-face, but among pirates, there are other ways of knowing what your opponent is up to. Jack, John realised, was slowly working his way around the table, glancing at the cards each player held and giving a small nod or shake of the head to a creature at the head of the table. John didn't recognise what race the man was - he wasn't certain he really wanted to know either - but he had never seen anything so evil-looking. A hard outer shell ran across his entire body, ending in six long thin legs which stuck out of his sides like needles in a pin-cushion. He sat on the bench at a peculiar angle as if he weren't quite used to sitting. His body was better accustomed to running, climbing walls. John swallowed. Or attacking prey.
Instead of arms, the creature carried two long pincers, carved as delicately and sharply as knives, and probably just as dangerous. But it was his eyes which scared John the most: large, yellow, and constantly grinning. They seemed to leer at Jack as he signalled to him what each player held. He gave a smile and pushed forward a pile of drubloons with one of his cruel claws. His voice was a hiss as he spoke, the words themselves only whispers: "I'll raise ya twenty."
One of the players heaved a sigh, throwing his cards onto the table and storming away into the crowd. The other remained, looking the spider-creature in his souless yellow eyes for only a second before glancing away. "I think you're bluffing."
The spider gave only a slow grin, showing off his series of small, sharp teeth. The other player pushed his own drubloons forward and spread his hand over the table. "Flush," he grunted, glancing up at the spider again nervously.
The creature paused for a long moment, that eerie smile playing over his lips. John noticed it grew wider as he looked to Jack, as if in thanks. He lay his own cards down slowly, savouring the moment. "Straight flush."
There were a few jeers from the crowd behind them as the spider gathered up his winnings and the other, defeated, slinked away, grumbling to himself. Slowly, the disappointed crowd began to disperse, and Jack approached the spider with slow, confident steps. John could never understand his brother's confidence; just looking at the creature, John was afraid, but here was his brother actually talking to him - or it.
Arms folded, Jack stared at the spider for a long moment while he counted the money, cackling softly to himself. Finally he glanced at Jack, but only for a moment, drawing the money towards his chest protectively, turning to walk-away.
"Hey!" Jack darted forward, grabbing the creature by his pincer to stop him. Angrily, the creature turned on him. John gasped as the creature leered at his brother, stretching to his full height to intimidate him before batting his hand away easily.
Jack returned the glare coolly, calmly. "Don't I get a cut for helping you?"
There was a long tense silence as Jack and the creature glared at one another. John realised he was holding his breath, looking between them with large, frightened eyes. It was impossible to guess the spider's age, but he stood two heads taller than Jack at his full height, and those pincers...
Slowly, the creature relaxed, spreading his weight over all of his legs so he and Jack came to the same height. He eyed Jack warily, and shook his head. "I can give you sssomething better than money," he whispered. "I can give you advissssssse."
When Jack didn't answer, the spider went on. "On thisss ssship, it'sss bessst to keep quiet about yourssself. There hasss been talk about the captain. When he asssksss your name," the spider grinned his eerie grin again, "lie."
Jack sighed, clearly disappointed. The spider, still smiling at him, added, "Thanksss, by the way," but Jack only nodded. They looked at one another again, this time both smiling a little at the lips. "I'm Sssscroop," the spider said finally, offering his pincer to Jack. Jack nodded in recognition, but moved his hands to his pockets rather than shake the claw. "Jack."
It seemed almost a cruel irony, Jim thought errantly as they approached the spaceport of the planet, that he had missed his beginners class in Communication Etiquette and Protocol for Communicating with Other Vessels and Spacers. It had sounded so boring - but now he really hadn't a clue what to say to the chirpy female voice which had called out to them over a small comm. in the longboat Jim hadn't even known was there.
"How long do you intend to stay?" she asked, her patience clearly tried by Jim's constant answers of "I dunno...".
"Do you speak Flatulan?" Jim asked warily, fully aware that he was clutching at straws. "My, uh, Captain doesn't speak English at all - you should talk to him."
"No, sir, I do not speak Flatulan - if you could hold again, I can fetch someone who does?"
"No! Please, don't put me on hold again! We'll be here, like a day, okay?" Jim sighed heavily into the communicator, trying to think of a convincing excuse to get into the spaceport. He looked to 'Captain' Snuff for help, but the Flatulan wasn't paying any attention to the conversation, replacing Scrabble letters from his waistcoat pockets into their box. "Our ship is... er, going to meet with us across the way," he improvised quickly , crossing his fingers.
"Well, come around to port seventeen - small vessels court. Upper level. Thank you for your business, enjoy your time on Knealisia." Her tone was clipped and before Jim could think to thank her politely or even say goodbye, she had hung up.
"Geez. Port seventeen... upper," he repeated angrily, searching for the right way. With nothing sign posted and Snuff silent, Jim eventually had to follow the other small transports around the spaceport and then count in from the left seventeen spaces. They were on the far end. Jim heaved another sigh and began steering in the longboat. So ended his grand adventures, he thought miserably as they docked the boat. So ended any hope of seeing Silver again.
John swallowed the growing lump in his throat as he entered the captain's quarters. He didn't know quite what to expect from the look of some of the crew, men he would be uneasy passing on the street, never mind eating and sleeping alongside, but he had imagined the captain might be some kind of shifty looking pirate covered in stolen clothes and old battle scars from his raids. He had even pictured an eye-patch and maybe a fake leg. Instead, the man behind the finely crafted furlwood desk was a human, maybe in his late forties, dressed in a fine tailor-fitted uniform and which would have served an admiral. His dark hair was tied smoothly back at the nape of his pale neck, and a thin moustache was trimmed neatly under a straight, pointed nose. He looked as though he belonged at the head of the Queen's Armada, rather than the head of a criminal crew.
The captain's head shot up from his desk as he heard John approach, his face twisted into an expression of fury. "Blast it, boy!" he shouted, fixing John with a cold hard glare. "While your on this ship, you knock the bleedin' door before ya come in, ya hear? Did ya ever think that's what it might be there for? Ta keep nosy little whelps like you from just waltzin' in any time of day an' intrusin' on me own private business!"
John moved his stare to the floor sheepishly, muttering a reluctant apology under his breath. Great, he thought angrily, his first day aboard the ship and he'd already messed up. Clearing his throat, the captain glanced him over quickly before shifting his attention back to a pile of papers scrolled across his desk. The noise of pen scratching over paper filled the room as the captain's attention became absorbed once more in whatever he was writing, ignoring John completely. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, staring around the room with a feeling of growing embarassment. The silence was now becoming tense. Gellarian butterflies rising in his stomach, John went over what his brother had told him to say in his head for the final time, rehearsing the lies so they would sound natural on his nervous lips.
"He doesn't know you're as young as you are, so don't mention your age if you can help it," Jack had warned. "Make up some ship names if he asks you for experience. And may the heavens help you if you tell him we're related! I don't want no one on this boat to know, or I'll be hearin' all about your muck-ups! Make up a name, like Scroop told ya, but for mercy's sake not the same as mine!"
The captain still had not looked in John's direction, his distant eyes set firmly on the page in front of him. John moved a step closer to the desk, trying to catch his attention. "Captain Kidd?"
"Age," the captain said in response, the word more a statement than a question. His eyes were still locked onto his papers, writing as he spoke. Caught offguard, John gave a long "uhm" before answering.
"Twenty."
"Experience."
"Uhm, the ship... Hispania."
"Position."
John stopped, his routine thrown off by the unexpected question. "What?"
Kidd stopped writing to look at John under his fringe of hair. His eyes now gleamed with suspicion. "What position did you hold on the ship Hispania?" he asked, pronouncing each word pointedly. "Rigger? Navigator?" He examined John's bulk and added, "Cabin boy?" with a cruel laugh.
"Oh, yeah!" John said quickly, in an attempt to recover. "I was an, uh... cabin boy."
Kidd glanced him over for a few long moments before giving an "hm" and returning to his notes. "As you are so experienced, you'll be the cabin boy of this ship. You will answer directly to me. Unless given instruction from me and only me, yer only duty is ta swab the deck spotless every morning at five a.m., then again at ten p.m., an' keep the ship in good knack. That means you're also ta see ta the longboat, keep the ship clear of barnacles, help with kitchen duties, and do whatever else I tell ya. Understand?" Kidd stopped writing to look at John, making sure he understood all of this. "What's yer name, boy?"
John grinned despite himself as he remembered the name he had chosen. He and Jack had decided upon their names together, agreeing that they would leave their parents' name entirely, but keep their own first names. Jack had said John would probably muck-up otherwise, call him by his real name in front of one of the pirates and cause some suspicion.
Scroop had suggested they use nicknames nobody would question, so their real identities needn't be known. Jack would become "Black Jack", which John believed was probably after his love for gambling. Since Scroop was listening, Jack had insisted it was after his black heart; John wasn't mean enough to be black, no pirate would believe it.
"You're more of a grey, Johnnie," Jack had laughed roughly, "not quite good, but on a pirate ship anyway."
John had thought of using something about his height, something obvious - like 'Tall John' maybe. Before it was John's turn to be interviewed, they had come to a perfect compromise.
John beamed at the captain. "I'm Long John Silver."
It was only after he had docked the longboat that Jim had a chance to really take in Knealisia.
The only spaceport Jim had ever seen was Crescentia, one of the smaller ports serving only a few planets of the Empire, and that had been enough to blow his mind. It had seemed huge and full of life and ships and people, busy and bustling and exciting. Now, as he pushed his way through the throbbing crowds, Jim realised that Knealisia was at least twice its size and twice as intimidating.
Jim stood, open-mouthed, drinking in the bustle and life of the spaceport: it was a shock to his senses, having spent so much of his life stuck into the quiet little planet of Montressor. Crescentia had been a relief, the Academy had been a surprise, but nothing had readied him for this. And after so long with Snuff as his only companion, the sound of voices - English-speaking voices! - was comforting to his ears. After a weekend on nothing but old purps, the smell of cooking food was enticing, intoxicating. Spell-bound in the excitement of the spaceport, Jim blocked out Mr. Snuff's wild chatter behind him as he tried to draw his attention to something.
Jim realised with a sigh that the moment he called home, he would be reeled back into the Academy and probably put under some kind of probation. Not to mention what his mother would say - or the captain. It would be a long time before he got out again. He wanted to enjoy it, to savour it.
Eventually, the frustrated Flatulan leaned forward, placing his moist tentacles against Jim's ear without his companion even noticing. With Snuff's loud, wet rasp, Jim snapped back to reality.
"Ew, what did you do that for?" Jim groaned, wiping his cheek with the sleeve of his jacket. "I know what you said, man!"
Snuff began talking again, too quickly for Jim to pick up any phrases. Trying to decipher the message, Jim turned to see what the pirate was pointing at. Grinning at them from the window of a nearby building was Long John Silver.
