It was mid-morning when a group of pre-teens, chaperoned by the same wizen man who had on occasion helped deliver Hotch's meals, arrived with coolers of water, an assortment of breakfast sandwiches on freshly made biscuits, and fresh fruit. After helping himself to a mid-morning snack, Hotch settled in the shade under some trees where he was soon joined by some of his 'watchers'. Amused by their vigilance, he began observing the other workers in the immediate area. The first thing he noticed was that while there were both men and women in the group, everyone was dressed in either khakis or well-worn jeans, topped by t-shirts, most of which were from either long ago concerts, amusement parks, or other vacation locales. As he read them he was disappointed to realize that no one particular locale seemed to predominate. Suddenly, he heard a familiar voice.
"So, 751, you're still here." Hotch looked over to see the Commander walking towards him.
"Can't find a way to go anywhere," Hotch responded. "Looks like I'm stuck here for the time being."
"I understand from Mistress that you are doing a good job," Commander continued.
"Against my better judgment," Hotch pointed out heatedly.
"It's not all that bad," the Commander replied. "And, give it a chance, you just might find out that you like it and that you also like living here with us on the island. Now, if you will excuse me, I'm going to get a sandwich before I return to the boat to make sure everything is being loaded properly." He walked over to the area where the youngsters had set up the food.
"How far is the dock from here?" Hotch asked the man sitting closest to him.
"About a ten minute walk that way," the man pointed. "But all that is there permanently is the dock itself. The boat comes and goes when it makes its deliveries and picks up our shipments."
As he lifted his arm to point, Hotch noticed some faint scaring along the vein.
"Another time, another place," the man told him when he noticed Hotch's stare. "And, I'm glad to be out of it."
"You just make the one set of shipments per year?" Hotch immediately questioned.
"We actually have several harvests each year," was the reply. "However, this is the main one. The others are considerably smaller."
"And there are always completed tops to be shipped out," another man interjected. "Our workroom is always busy."
"Well, it appears that the food supplies have all been unloaded," Commander nodded towards a pile of boxes that had been stacked next to the weighting shed as he walked back past the men. "Time to start figuring out weight and placement on the outbound crates and boxes – Need to make sure the load is properly balanced."
"Do you need my help?" Hotch volunteered, thinking he could get a look at the boat and its location.
"Not now," was the response. "You can keep on working here."
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
The remainder of the morning flew by and, before Hotch realized it, it was time for lunch.
"Everyone needs to help carry the boxes of supplies up to the kitchen," 479 instructed the workers. "And remember, Cook will kill anyone who tracks dirt on the dining room floor so take them around to the back of the building. Someone back there will tell you where to put them."
"Does that include me?" Hotch asked. "Will I be eating with the rest of you?"
"It certainly does, 751," was the response. "Everyone is busy picking, packing, and shipping, and we don't have time to serve individual meals. You will be joining us – But don't get any ideas." Several of the men glared at Hotch and moved closer.
"Just wanted to make sure," Hotch replied evenly as he chose a box to carry. "Which way do I go?"
By following the other workers, Hotch soon found himself walking around to the back of an old, weather-beaten, wooden building which had been built up off the ground on pillars to allow for air flow under the floor.
"Over here, please," he could hear a woman's voice calling out as he rounded the corner of the building. "We're putting everything in the corner of the kitchen for now. We'll arrange it in the pantry later."
"And, don't forget," the voice added. "Wash up and then clean shirts."
"Bossy, isn't she?" the man behind Hotch grumbled, but Hotch could detect a smile in his voice.
"That's Cook?" Hotch questioned.
"No Way!" one of the women exclaimed. "That's 586 – She's Mistress's Number One assistant. She helps out wherever she is needed." Hotch followed the group through a doorway and into a large kitchen area.
When he saw her, Hotch realized the 586 was considerably younger than he had expected, with dark hair piled up on top of her head and light grey eyes. She was waving her arms around as she enthusiastically directed everyone where to deposit their burdens.
"Here?" Hotch asked, indicating a space where he could put down the box he was carrying.
"Looks good," the young woman replied. "And, don't forget – Clean faces, clean hands, and clean shirts."
"We know," a man standing behind Hotch groused. "Cook insists we show respect for the food and for the people who prepared it."
"You know it!" 586 smiled at him. "Next – " She waved the next wave of people through the door.
Hotch found himself being guided towards the wooden building standing next to the dining hall, which appeared to be a dormitory. Once inside, he joined the other men in a large restroom where they all busied themselves with washing away the evidence of their morning's toils. After that he followed the group into another, smaller room, where stacks of clean t-shirts, divided by size, were laid out on tables. As he looked around the room, he could see an assortment of clean clothes hanging on racks and also lying neatly on multiple built-in shelving units.
"Dirty shirts in here," one of the men pointed at some large wicker baskets. "Makes it easier for the people working in the laundry to pick them up."
"Of course," Hotch quickly stripped off the sweat soaked t-shirt he had been wearing and slipped into a clean shirt, advertising a vacation spot in the Caribbean. As he looked around at the others he realized again that while most of the shirts featured various vacation spots and rock concerts, no particular area of the world seemed to dominate the selection. He still had no idea of where in the world he was.