~ Chapter 68 ~
Canalave City, The Iron Island Ferry
"We arrived in Canalave City, by boat. Unfortunately, we weren't able to take the same boat out to Iron Island. A mysterious and sacred tribe of religious recluses who believed in something called 'Aura' inhabited it, and supposedly they didn't let too many people near their island in order to protect themselves and their power. The whispers of Team Galactic's evil on the mainland hadn't helped much. Our ferry master was the only person—or at least one of the few—allowed to go between Iron Island and the mainland, and only because he was responsible for bringing the tribe to and from the mainland, as well as bringing them any mail or supplies they might be getting from those they knew on the mainland. Supposedly he was the only one brave enough to navigate the rough waters—though some said recently his bravery had been doubled and he went out there looking for a Lunar Wing and the Mythical Pokémon Cresselia. Supposedly his son had fallen ill, and he was looking for the legendary island where Cresselia was supposed to be near Iron Island. Eventually, he found it. But that's a story for another time."
Canalave City was big, and sitting right on the harbour. It was known for shipping, industry, warehouses, and fisheries. The place smelled of fish as a result—at least closer to the sea. The further south you went in the city, the better it smelled.
The entire city was divided in four areas. Two massive man-made canals flowed through the city, and out to the other sea south of Canalave. These canals contained a large amount of lift locks that raised and lowered the boats that came in and out of the canals. The canals existed so large ships could get right through Canalave to the South Sinnoh Sea, as opposed to going around the Canalave Peninsula.
The third divider was an actual river. This was smaller, with no lift locks, allowing smaller passenger and private watercraft to travel between the East and South Sinnoh Seas.
It was down this river that Sam and his friends were travelling.
They were on a small—relatively—ferry, travelling towards Iron Island.
They hadn't been here all that long, in fact as soon as they arrived and dropped off the boat, they'd made their way to the ferry to set up passage to Iron Island.
It had been a day since then. Now the ferryman was driving the medium sized boat out into the open sea.
"I ain't taken no one to Iron Island in a dog's age," grumbled the Captain, "I reckon it's been fifteen years."
He was an older, grizzled man. Long white beard, big burly build and scars all over his arms and hands—your typical sailor, missing only the eye patch.
"We appreciate you taking us over on such short notice," thanked Alyssandra, in response.
"'S'nothing," he shrugged, "I were going out that way anyway. Just a few extra passengers, nothing big; didn't even hafta pay me nuthin' if ya didn't want. I woulda dun it fer free."
Sam shrugged and stepped forward. "I wasn't about to make you drive us around for free," he relpied, "I was raised right after all."
The old sailor gave a gruff laugh. "Aye, well, we won' be at Iron Island 'til tomorrow. Best be gettin' some rest, taking a breather before ya get trainin' there; you'll be needin' yer strength. If yer need food, just go below deck and let Cookie know. He's the cook, he'll whip you up somethin'."
They thanked the captain for his hospitality, and he returned to the bridge.
They had small cabins down below deck where they would retire later for a nap.
The captain used a small transport frigate that he modified with a better kitchen and mess hall than it came with, and extra cabins for guests and the crew.
Sam looked over at Alyssandra, and she smiled at him.
The two's relationship had greatly improved, and was better than ever before since the incident in Celestic Town, though Sam only knew that because she didn't know the truth about Alexios.
He had shot himself on Route 214, and Sam had buried him underneath an unmarked, gnarled oak where he died.
It was the least Sam could do.
It was what Sam did with the gun, and what he was planning to do with the gun, that would've worried his friends and Alyssandra.
Sam placed his hand in his shoulder bag and felt the small, snub-nosed gun. The metal was cold, even in his bag, with a wooden handle.
It was a small revolver, what Sam recognized as a .38 calibre, also known as the 38 Special.
He saw it in all those old movies; the small, easy to concile revolver used by the criminals and heroes alike.
And Sam was going to use it to put a bullet between Cyrus's eyes.
Cyrus.
Charon.
Jupiter.
Saturn.
Mars.
That was his shit list.
The gun held five rounds. Alexios had a single round in the chamber when he shot himself, but he had a small box of ammo in his pocket, which Sam pilfered from his corpse.
There were just enough bullets left to have two shots on everyone—a shot, and a back up if he averaged it out.
Alyssandra came up to him and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, you okay?"
Sam jumped a bit. He zoned out when he had gone to feel for the gun.
Alyssandra frowned, looking at him. "What's wrong?"
Sam shook his head. "Nothing, I'm just tired. We've done a lot of travelling, there's been a lot going on."
"You should rest," she suggested, placing a hand on his shoulder, "You don't need to burn out before Iron Island."
Sam shook his head. "I'm okay. I just…I think I need some food."
Sam was a decent actor, and he needed to play off his plotting as something else, or he was going to get questions he wasn't going to be able to answer—or didn't wan't to answer.
"I know what he needs," cried Jeremy, running over to Sam, "He needs a battle!"
"We all need a battle," Niya said as she stretched her arms, craking her neck, "We haven't had a four way battle in a while. My Pokémon are itching for a fight."
"You're telling me," smiled Jeremy, agreeing.
"You know what, you're right!' cried Alyssandra, "I haven't taken my Pokémon out for a challenging battle in a while."
"What do you say, Sam? Or are we beneath your skill now that you're a contender for the Pokémon League?" Niya taunted.
Sam gritted his teeth—not angrily, but feeling the competiveness fuel his heart and mind—he was ready to do this.
"You going to let them talk to like that, my boy?" asked Aurelio, coming up behind Sam, trying to egg him on.
"I took on three well trained Pokémon and took them down in a matter of seconds back in Celestic," warned Sam, "You sure you want to do this?"
Everyone laughed. That was the spirit.
"So, this one's a three on one?" asked Niya.
"Let's do it," agreed Sam, "I could use a challenge. My Pokémon need to be ready to plough through the last three Gym Leaders, and the Pokémon League. The harder I tarin them, the less trouble the League will be."
"All right, but I'll allow a stipulation for each of us," explained Niya, "Three Pokémon each. We can only use one at a time, but it's the three of us versus Sam. We can only sub-out when our Pokémon is defeated, and we have to have three Pokémon against Sam at any one time."
"So three of my Pokémon get to take down nine of your guys'?" smirked Sam, itching for a challenge.
"You've got this," smiled Aurelio, "It'll be a challenge, but you've got this."
Jeremy pointed to the aft of the boat, towards the stern. "I'll go ask the Captain if we can battle on the deck without disturbing him or his boat."
"Or destroying it," sighed Alyssandra, remembering the tent they had to replace as they passed through Route 205 a week or so back, when Sam had battled a wild Pokémon, only for the Pokémon to escape, and Sam to completely burn a tent to the ground.
Sam's face turned a light shade of pink. Alyssandra stuck her tongue out at him, laughing from her mouth and her eyes. She took was a light shade of pink.
Sam chuckled.
Aurelio nudged his grandson, to which Sam did his best to ignore him and his incinuations.
Alyssandra wouldn't be so close or happy with Sam if she knew what he had planned for the destructive heads of Team Galactic.
The revenge he sought.
For corrupting Alexios, for feeding the worst in a man Sam had long respected. Who had thrown away the lives of humans and Pokémon for profit and personal gain, just so they could destroy the world in the end; they sickened him, and he yearned for revenge.
He didn't hate the Black Claw Gang as much as he hated Team Galactic, and that said something.
But for now, no thoughts of that, no thoughts of revenge, for now, Sam had a battle to win.
A battle he was going to win.
He needed this victory, to train—or this loss to be honest; he didn't need to win to get experience from this, to grow stronger.
As long as he learned, that's what was important.
