“War brings out the giants.” Crispin Beasley.

They landed on a small island in a broad chain of rocky islands known as the asteroid belt. They were southwest of Ain on one of the larger islands. Black smoke issued from the jet beneath the left rear foil rising into a bland predawn sky. Tallgrass flourished by an abandoned fishing dock of old gray wood. Tide and lichen had overtaken the leaning piles and warped planks. A small rowboat lay overturned near the dock, just as grayed by age and disrepair, a hole visible in the bottom.

Sam instructed the youths, “Walk around, boys. See if there’s another boat.”

Besh looked across the water to the fog-shrouded silhouette of factory chimneys. The prospect of swimming offered little hope. Sam stood silent beside him. Besh asked quietly, “I don’t suppose the pirate ship has an inflatable raft?”

“Unlikely,” Sam replied, “but I’ll check.”

Sam stood in the open door and looked around the craft’s interior. He hoped to find a panel in the wall or a box beneath a seat. The cockpit seemed excessively stark. The back cargo area was empty except for a sealed latrine bucket. Then, he spied a panel behind some wall netting and opened it. What he found was disappointing. There was a soiled butter knife and an empty jar of peanut butter. The bucket, held in place with a rubber cord, sat on a round rubber pad. If nothing else, the pad could make a patch for the small boat.

Besh turned as Sam approached. Sam said, “Found a patch for the boat,” holding the rubber pad up. “Now, all we need is a water-resistant sealer.”

Besh asked, “Don’t pirate ships have secret areas for hiding stuff?”

“I guess some do,” answered Sam. “I looked around pretty good. Couldn’t find one.”

Sam sat heavily on the old boat and looked at the rubber pad in his hand. Besh thought about his small multicolored bag. He could use the pretense of looking for secret compartments to search his bag. His special gift from the Nashtatra held dimensional pockets he had yet to use. But he had filled many with items he felt might someday be useful. It was just possible he carried some sort of sealer.

Besh said, “If we are leaving the ship behind, I’ll go rip up some seats. That is if you don’t mind.”

Resigned, the Captain looked up and answered, “Knock yourself out.”

Beasley and Raul walked along the eastern shore. Water lapped noisily on the rocks. Raul poked in the grass ahead of himself with a dry limb he had pulled from a small dead tree. A band of orange light peeked through the lifting fog, unveiling the distant horizon.

Exasperated, Beasley asked, “What are we looking for?”

Raul replied casually, “I don’t know, man.”

Beasley changed the subject. “Were you born in Central City?”

“What? Me?” Raul swung his stick at the tall grass. “No. Actually, I was born on Merlin.”

“What’s that like?” Beasley prodded idly.

“Lots of miners with dirty faces,” said Raul. “Blasting day and night.”

“You ever want to go home?” asked Beasley.

“Hell no,” said Raul. “What for? Dad died in the mines and Mom ran off with a hauler. I came to live with uncle Rico.”

“How did you end up with the Captain?” asked Beasley shoving his cold hands deep into his pockets.

Raul smiled. “Ninety questions, huh? Well, I answered an ad on the Archive. Been living the dream ever since. What about you?”

Beasley answered, “I was born in Central City. My father used to serve the King.”

Raul swung his stick again and asked, “What happened?”

Beasley looked up from his thoughts and replied, “Oh. Well, he had a heart attack. He passed away last year.”

Raul shouldered the limb. “Sorry, man,” was his embarrassed response.

“It’s alright,” said Beasley. “Mom remarried and moved to Mosepi with a large tattooed man. Haven’t heard from her since.”

“Just a couple of orphans,” said Raul.

Just as Beasley turned to answer Raul, he tripped in the tall grass and landed hard in an open area of rocks and damp sand.

“Ow!” he complained.

Raul laughed, “Way to go, man. You found something.”

Beasley rolled up on an elbow and looked back to his feet. There at the edge of the tall grass, he saw a wooden oar ravaged by time and neglect. He said, “One more to go.”

Raul helped Beasley to his feet and placed the old oar into his hands. He said happily, “We’ll need a couple of buckets.”

“Why?”

“Because,” said Raul. “The boat has a hole in the bottom. We’ll be bailing like crazy.”

Sam used the butter knife to spread the sealer Besh had brought back. The rubber patch was adequate. He bent over and blew along the seal when he heard Raul calling.

“Yo, Captain. Guess who?”

Sam and Besh paused to turn. Each young man carried an oar over one shoulder while they pulled a rusting metal chest between them. It took one moment and a large rock for Sam to open the chest. Raul and Beasley stood by with evident excitement hoping for the proverbial buried treasure. Besh stepped in close as Sam pulled back the lid.

“Well, that’s disappointing,” said Besh. “Let’s see; shaved wood, rocks, moldy stuff . . .”

Raul complained with obvious despondency, “Man!”

Beasley, with a hand atop his head, asked, “We lugged that all the way back for rocks?”

“Step back,” commanded the Captain. In one quick move, Sam flipped the chest and emptied the content.

Sam knelt and brushed through the pile of old rocks and wood. He retrieved a small box and brushed it off. Raul and Beasley, once again enlivened with hope, drew close in anticipation. Sam opened the box and found three items. The first item was a wrapped packet. He laid that aside and hoisted the second item with enthusiasm. It was a loaded handgun, a fine model with an intricately engraved handle. He handed the gun to Besh and stood with the third item in one hand and the packet in the other.

Raul retrieved the dropped box and looked inside. Beasley kicked in the content of the chest while Sam tucked the packet in his belt and turned his attention to a nicely engraved Bowie knife. Sam removed the knife from its scabbard and held it up in the morning light. He tested the weight and balance. The handle bore the image of a dragon spewing fire and etched in the polished steel was a mysterious sigil. 

“Fine work,” said he.

Besh offered, “Should be useful.”

“I found it,” said Raul reaching out his hand. “Finders keepers.”

Sam leaned forward and looked his crewman in the eye. “We’re about to find out how sharp it is,” he said. “Possession is nine-tenths of the law. Now, before I’m forced to kick your scrawny butts, turn that boat over and make ready to shove off.”

Raul withdrew his hand and pouted. “Aye-aye, Captain stingy,” said Raul as he turned with a huff and walked to the boat.

Beasley kicked the pile of rocks and followed unhappily. Sam attached the knife to his belt, took the gun from Besh, placed it between his back and beltline, and, finally, opened the packet for inspection. Inside the aged paper wrap was a small stack of outdated credit notes, and a damaged I.D. The image of the person had been removed. Sam read the name aloud.

“Maxfield Daggett,” said Sam handing it to Besh.

Besh scanned the time-stained I.D. and said, “Judging by the date of birth, he must be very old.”

Sam took the I.D. from Besh, wrapped it, and stuck it in his back pocket. “Let’s go,” he said.

The sea was choppy. Cold spray soaked the party. With Beasley and Raul wedged in the bow of the small boat, Sam sat in the back and rowed. Besh sat with his back to Sam and kept an eye on the patch. So far so good, he thought. They were cold, they were wet, and Besh would have felt Better had the boys brought back a bucket of some sort. The long trip over to Nesmith had only just begun, but, at least, the patch was holding.

“Sir,” said Raul.

Besh looked up and answered, “Yes, Raul.”

“I was curious why you stow away. Are you like a space tourist?”

Besh replied, “Well, it is nice to travel, to see the wonders of the universe, but, to tell the truth, I’ve been looking for my old friend, Cosmo Jack. We parted under circumstances that were less than ideal. I would like to make things right.”

“What happened?” Raul and Beasley asked the question at the same time and looked at each other embarrassed.

“Alright,” Besh agreed. “We were on Miners moon. Each of us had been permitted one small bag of belongings. I brought tobacco, several packs, and a handful of shorts. I was willing to share, but Cosmo found out before I told him, and he accused me of holding out.”

Beasley asked, “Why not just divide them?”

“I would have,” said Besh, “but I woke up one morning to find that Cosmo had already taken his half.”

“Problem solved,” said Raul.

“Not quite,” Besh replied. “I had failed to bring matches.”

“La Madre!” said Raul.

“What then?” asked Beasley, fascinated.

Raul asked, “What about a campfire? That would have solved the problem.”

“It would have,” agreed Besh. “The only problem with that was the weather. It rained all the time on Miners Moon. Nothing was dry. Even the dead wood was wet.”

The boys gaped, intent on the tale. Sam said as he rowed, “They didn’t allow tobacco on Miners Moon.”

Besh turned and answered, “That was true, but I paid a guard. The credits were lost to me anyway, so I offered my savings. It was more for my friend than for me. His habit was fierce. So,” he said turning back to Raul and Beasley, “there I was. I had tobacco and no fire. Cosmo ached for a smoke. He accused me of hiding the matches I didn’t have. He wanted to search me, I said no. We got in a fistfight and he ran off. He found a way off the moon and I followed. Been following ever since.”

Sam asked, “What if he’s dead?”

Besh sighed. “I’ll either find him or I won’t. Along the way, I get to meet some pretty nice people.”

“Sir,” said Beasley, sounding uneasy. “Sir, there’s something in the water.” Suddenly, everyone was on alert, scanning the choppy sea.

“There,” called Raul. All eyes followed his pointing finger.

Not far from their small boat, a gray dorsal fin rose up through the waves and slid silently back under. Sam turned and pulled on the rows with heroic strength. The docks of Ain were within sight. Raul and Beasley turned nervously keeping their collective eye peeled for the fin. Besh clutched his backpack.

“Just a little further,” said Besh.

The boat scraped wood. Raul grabbed a rough pile and held on. Beasley scrambled out of the boat and turned to help Besh as Sam climbed from the back. The small craft banged against the dock as Beasley reached out to Raul. Sam shoved the youth aside, grabbed Raul by the fabric of his light jacket, and lifted him onto the dock. Just then, the gray fin arose and the body of the large sea creature slammed the small boat. Cracked, it floated away from the dock.

Having been thrown bodily to the dock, Raul complained with an offended, “Ow!” Nevertheless, he tucked in his legs and rolled away from the edge with evident alacrity.

Stunned, Beasley sat on the dock near Raul. “That was too close,” he said.

“No time to roll around,” said Sam. “Let’s go.”

Tightening the straps on his backpack, Besh suggested, “We should find cover, see where we are.”

“Follow me,” commanded the Captain.

They stood on the western side of an abandoned factory, hiding in the morning shadows. They pressed against the rough wall as Sam scanned ahead. Across the empty yard was a fence, its gate ajar. Not a soul stirred on the factory docks. Pigeons worked the loose gravels among the weeds. Sam led them quickly through the gate to the shadows of a newer factory with signs of recent activity.

Besh scanned the new wall and asked, “What’s this?”

He pulled a stained poster from the wall for closer inspection. On the page, in four bold blocks, were a photo of Beasley, and three composite drawings. Beneath each image was a name and a credit reward. 

Besh spoke softly. “Looks like we’re wanted men.”

Sam took the page from Besh, looked quietly, then noted, “The only photo is of Beasley. These drawings are really bad.”

Beasley stepped forward and snatched the poster from the Captain’s hand. His voice trembled with bewilderment. “I’m a wanted man? This is not happening.”

Raul took the page from Beasley’s stunned grip. “Wow!” he said in a hush. “Crispin, you’re worth dinero! Thirty thousand credits. Let’s see. The Captain is worth a thousand credits and Mr. Besh is worth five hundred. Wait a minute. This can’t be right. How come I got no numbers?”

Sam whispered, “Let’s stow the chatter and find cover.”

He led them around a corner and across another broad lot, avoiding a lone security officer on patrol. They ran, undetected, through the unmanned entry check and hid among trees on the side of the empty road. Checking their cover, Sam called them into a close huddle. 

He placed a hand on Beasley’s stooped shoulder and asked “Think you can get us to this professor of yours?”

Beasley answered, “The university is in the central district.”

“Can you get us there?” asked Sam.

“Yes,” agreed the young man.

Besh placed a hand on the Captain’s arm for attention and said, “Of all of us, I worry for young Beasley the most. I think he needs a disguise.”

Sam asked, “You got anything in your backpack? A hat, dark glasses, something with a hood?”

“No,” answered Besh.

“No matter,” replied the Captain. “We’ll find something along the way.”

They followed the trees along the road. It was still early when they reached the suburbs. Traffic was light and the trees continued to follow the coastline. Toward noon, they stood behind a row of nondescript commercial buildings.

Sam said to Besh, “Pick a door.”

Besh responded quickly, pointing. “That one.” 

Sam broke through the back door and ushered his party into the dark interior. Wary, they crept through the dark, quietly feeling their way in stops and starts. A dim light from the front of the building pried opened the darkness and exposed large crates. Besh peeked out through a window to the street. In a small room with a small locked window in a larger window, Sam saw a sign that read ‘Closed.’

“Must be a theater,” Sam whispered to Besh.

“How serendipitous,” Besh whispered back. “Let’s look around.”