Don't own.

Hope you enjoy.



Silver sat for a very long time doing nothing but stare at a stain on the floorboards. This was actually similar to the state he'd been in before his little confrontation... quietly milling thoughts in his head.

"Fifteen men on a dead man's chest!

Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!"

He was instantly jolted out of his musing. Some old fellow was already stone drunk despite it being the middle of the afternoon, and he had his mug of drink raised as he cried the old refrain. His friends were not quite as far gone as he, and looked a mixture of embarrassment and horror. The man took a good swig. His cheeks turning a merry red, he laughed at his own boldness.

He got a dirty look from Silver, but little more than that. The Ursid, sour over someone else's noise for once, slung his sack over a shoulder and walked away towards the harbor. The sitting had done him little good anyways. He didn't know his way around, but let his feet carry him where they would.

The planet was ironically bright considering all that went on. There was little moisture in the sky which meant the sun would beat down mercilessly by day. Once it went down, its rays were caught and reflected by the Megellanic Cloud, which in turn bathed Donsemede in an eerie blue-green glow. In this way there was never a true night.

The perpetual metallic tang in the air was sometimes overridden by the sent of fruit and meat being sold, as well as about a dozen speciel variations of body odor. Having such a power sense of smell as Silver had actually helped. It meant his tolerance was also much higher.

His sight wasn't so fortunate. A number of the things his eyes fell upon he wished they hadn't. Here some ancient, endangered animal stung up and gutted, there a line of slaves chained together, bound for who knows what hell...

Not even four years ago he would have been appalled by less. Back then he would have done something, or at least tried. Now it just made him feel a little bad, and that bothered him. Without noticing, he had developed a 'back then,' into which he could look and see what he had been against what he was now. As a youth, all he had was the present and the future. To suddenly find himself with a past was disconcerting.

But what a past! He set out for Flint's trove when he was 15, and he was now 24. In that span he had probably gone further and seen more than most spacers twice his age.

This was also part of the current problem. 9 years he spent crisscrossing the galaxy after leads that lead nowhere, and he was getting tired of it. The constant disappointment was finally taking its toll. It was making him impatient. This caused him to make mistakes (like getting involved with the Squire, for one), and now all the leads were dead and for the life of him he couldn't come up with any way out of this mess without creating a bigger one.

Someone was following him.

He was careful to keep his pace and look oblivious. He didn't even try to glance back as he continued up the street. There! An alley! He turned into it, happy to find a relatively isolated space where he could deal with this without getting a town full of criminals involved. Thankfully the alley was open at both ends so he could retreat if need be. When he was about halfway through he stopped.

"Long John Silver," came a lofty voice from behind him, "I hear you have some tribulations concerning that insufferable Trewlarney. Personally I would kill him."

He turned around with a smile, but also with a drawn pistol. "Aye," he said, "but I'd just as soon avoid being hunted to the ends a the galaxy over the likes a him. Now, to what do I owe the pleasure, Mr Dog?"

Black Dog himself was standing not ten paces away, this time dressed in his usual garb of a plain blue spacer's coat, an uncolored shirt underneath, and black trousers. The only thing the same was the fancy boots. He was casually inspecting his nails as he said, "Does one need a reason to seek out engaging acquaintances? Though I must say, sonny, you really have gotten yourself into a spot of bother."

Silver shrugged without wavering his aim. "It's a hobby a mine. I likes ta see how tight a spot I can get meself out of."

"A worthy pastime, I'm sure. Now, I would ask why you have a weapon drawn while I am attempting civil conversation, but the irony would be nauseating."

"It's not that I don't appreciate a good repartee," the younger man finished this line with a flourish that bordered on scornful, then he abandoned all good humor, "but I ain't in the mood. Care ta wager a guess as ta why that is, Mr Dog?"

Black Dog stroked his well trimmed black goatee with an expression of mock contemplation. "Would it have anything to do with my overzealous Captain and that bounty hunter he hired?"

Giving an unpleasant smirk, Silver said, "Good guess."

"Indeed." Black Dog went back to inspecting his nails. "To my credit," he said, "I told Captain Pew it was in ill sport, but he's an old man and I fear it has rendered him impatient. He was upset when he missed meeting you, and he wearied of awaiting your return."

"Not that I 'old ye responsible fer the actions of yer Cap'n, but you'll haf'ta forgive me fer not trustin' ya. I s'pose yer here ta take me to 'em?"

Black Dog smiled in an attempt at charm and held his hands before him as though offering some priceless bauble. "On the contrary, sonny. The Captain was prepared to send half the crew for your capture, but for his sake and yours, I took it upon myself to come before you and offer a parley."

Silver's eyebrows lowered and his nose wrinkled in a look of confusion. "Parley? What the Devil 'ud he want a parley for? I can't fathom why he's taken an interest in me. I don't gots nuttin' ta offer, 'cept maybe a good pair a space-legs, but there's thousands a spacers me like comin' and goin' every day. And what's he got to offer me, eh? What in the whole bloody galaxy could an old pirate like 'im give me, 'sides a bunch a problems I don't want?"

When the pirate grinned, his wine colored lips peeled back to reveal a multitude of sharp, yellowed teeth. "I only have an inkling to his interest in you, but I lack the confidence to say it. As for what Captain Pew can extend, I haven't the foggiest." The glint in his dark eyes was like the spark of a pistol as it shot through a heart. "However, the Captain is a very old man... so old, in truth, that he was alive in the days of Flint himself." He paused so that Silver could digest that statement. "Whether you accept my word or not, to speak with a man who may have first hand knowledge of that elusive subject you seek... well, it must be awfully tempting."

Silver's face was expressionless for all of two seconds before he looked to the side and sucked at his teeth in a contemplative manner. It only took him a moment to come to a decision. His mouth curved into a smile and he tucked his gun away. "Alright, ya gots me. Parley on, Mr Dog." He gave his hand a motion that suggested Black Dog should lead the way.

The Pirate, however, blinked with a frown and a puzzled brow. "That's it?" he asked, with a quirk of the upper lip.

With a shrug, Silver said, "I'm outa leads, and I don't fancy meetin' another bounty hunter."

It took a moment, but Black Dog shrugged as well. "Alrighty then." He waited for Silver to follow, and then began to lead the way.


The Luminal Ray itself was a sleek, beauty of a ship, but inside, in the captain's quarters was a dark, gloomy, hoard. In a way it was a gallery of one man's lifetime of misdeeds. There were objects over a hundred years old, worn out things the use or significance of which were lost to all but their owner. Amongst these were countless trinkets and priceless artifacts that were, for some reason or another, kept instead of sold with the rest of the booty. These formed incongruous heaps that collected dirt and grew cobwebs like so many lace skirts. The only clean surface in the entire space was the big, black table that took up it's center. No one ever cleaned in there. The only people who entered were the Captain and occasionally the first mate.

There came a knock on the rich wooden door and a soft voice responded with, "Come in." The hinges were poorly oiled and cried as Black Dog entered.

"I've brought him, Captain," he said, seemingly to the room.

"Good, very good." The voice ghosted out like the sound of sheets in the wind. It was soft, and yet not a word of it could be missed.

John Silver came in behind Black Dog and looked about perplexedly. At first he thought there was no one in the room, and he would have gone on believing it if not for the persistent scratching noise. It was too broken and rhythmless to be caused by something that was not alive. His eyes sought out the source and he noticed that what he had mistaken for a particularly misshapen, cloth covered mound was, in fact, breathing. This strange creature was standing over a lectern, its protruding hand grasping a quill and writing in a heavy book. Once Black Dog had slipped back out and shut the door, the quill was dipped in an ink well and left there. Slowly the creature turned around. This didn't help much towards it's identity, as its brown cloak fell over its face and concealed its features. The only thing Silver could see of it was two glowing red lights that he assumed were its eyes.

Uncomfortable in the presence of this mysterious being, the Ursid was the first to break the silence. "Uh, me name's John Silver, sir. Would you be Cap'n Pew?"

The thing paused and he felt the lights burning into him like embers. "I am," it finally said. "Forgive me rudeness, lad. Have a seat." The same hand that had been writing gestured towards an ornately carved chair, and glinted as it vanished back under the cloak.

Once Silver had taken up the proffered chair, the Captain began to move about, searching for some object amongst his many things. He had a pronounced limp, which turned each movement into a lurch. "I'm glade yer here, lad. I most surely am. I was upset, very upset when I heard you escaped Lesil. I was told she be the best, I was, and I wonder... I wonder, how did you do it?" He stopped to 'look' at his guest.

Silver rubbed nervously at the back of his neck. "Twas nuttin' big really, but I'll be keepin' it to meself. I'll say this much though: she's regrettin' she ever heard a John Silver, and you may lay to that."

Bang!

He nearly jumped out of his seat as a dusty bottle was slammed on the table. He stared at it in alarm as it's honey colored contents sloshed wildly. "Ioti rumbullion," said Captain Pew, "the finest there ever was, and ye cannot get it anymore. This bit here is older than me." He placed a pare of rum sniffers next to the bottle and that's when Silver noticed it. Those hands weren't made of flesh. They were mechanical, three fingered, each digit ending in a bladed point. Silver's eyes followed the tip of one as it sank into soft cork and wrenched the bottle open. "That's how close this meetin' is ta me heart, lad," the old man continued as he carefully poured an even portion into each glass. "I couldn't think of a more worthy brew fer such an occasion. After all, this be the first drink 'tween Pew and Silver since Flint went off ta Davy Jones."

One of the glasses was pushed towards Silver, and in doing so, the Captain stretched his long right arm into the faint lamp light. The metal ended halfway down the forearm, and the rest was loose white skin that made Silver think of leather that was left to the elements for far too long. The appendage was gone again in a flash, but it left him reeling. The old pirate was a cyborg!

Cyborgs never sat well with him, but he didn't reveal his discomfort. He gave the offered drink a glance, snorted, and said, "So the only reason yer after me is that ye knew me granddad?"

Captain Pew picked up his glass and swirled the liquid. "No... I met him, I knew of him, but I never knew him."

Silver frowned at him and said, "And ya don't know me, sir. If ya think I be anythin' like him just 'cause a me name, than yer daft. A name's a name. It means nothin'"

"Ah, but blood... the right blood can mean everything. You have worth, lad. Shiver me, but I've lived too long to be blind a that. I want you in me crew, and in case you haven't noticed," he swept his arms to indicate everything in the room, "I get what I want."

Silver was starting to get panicked, found its outlet in anger. It took several deep breaths to calm him before he could say, "So do I, and I don't want ta have anythin' ta do wit'choo."

Though he couldn't see it, he could swear that under the cowl, the old man was smiling. "Why is that?"

"'Cause I value me freedom, Cap'n Pew," he had calmed enough to return to his usual amiability. "I likes ta go where I like wit'out the risk a bein' clapped in irons and thrown in prison."

"And so we've come to our parley."

He blinked, then smiled. "And so we have," he said.

The Captain nodded. "If ye have a mind, I'll be layin' down fer both our sides and then you can say yer piece."

"Fine wit' me," said Silver with a shrug.

Another nod, "I know of yer dept, lad, and I know it be more than one little sloop, so I propose a wager. I wager ye won't be able to pay up by the deadline a one month. When ye don't, I'll pay Trewlarney for ya, and you'll join me crew."

Silver watched him warily and said, "And what if I makes the deadline?"

The Captain didn't answer straight away. He drummed his metal fingers on the table as he thought carefully on how he was to word this next part. "I did not simply live in Flint's time, no. I served in his crew. Yer searching fer Treasure Planet, right? Well I've been there. I'm one a the handful ta survive that last voyage, and I be the only man in the galaxy who could tell ya where ta find the map."

Well that got Silver's attention. "The map?!?" he nearly stood and it took all of his will to settle back down. "The map is lost!" he hissed under his breath.

Captain Pew leaned towards him in a secretive manner. "I swear ta ye, it's not," he hissed back. "And if ye meet the Squire's deadline, I'll tell ye all I know."

The younger man sat back and ran a wearied hand over his face. It was tempting, certainly, but there was no way he trusted the old pirate's words. He also had no sure way of winning the bet. He stared at his drink... rum. He blinked. What was it about rum? Something from earlier... something his father told him once. Than he picked up the glass, made a toast, and smirked darkly at the Captain. With rhythm and power, he said,

"Fifteen men on a dead man's chest!

Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle a rum!"

Captain Pew stilled, went stiff. He would have paled if he could. Suddenly he was no longer an old pirate Captain, but simple, scrawny Pew. This was no longer the Luminal Ray, and the man sitting across from him was one he feared from the very depths of his soul. Everyone knew that line. It was the Buccaneer's Toast, common to bars across the Etherium since who knows when, but few were privy to the words that were said next.

When he spoke, Pew's voice whispered out like a man possessed...

"Drink and the devil had done fer the rest.

Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum."

John Silver grinned his devil's grin and gulped down the fine old rumbullion in one swig. "I accept yer terms, Cap'n Pew."