Waterwitch

[Keeper]

Lord Sebastian James Ambrose Reynolds ‘awoke’ with a start to find himself shackled to a bare stone wall in what appeared to be some sort of dungeon.
The floor before him and the ceiling above was constructed of dull grey slate slabs, although above, they rested on thick beams of wood.
Directly opposite Reynolds was a thick ironclad door with a square barred opening at head height, but Reynolds couldn’t make out what was beyond it as a large featureless shadow-man stood motionless in front of him like a statue of black onyx.
Just for the hell of it Reynolds tried the chains and of course found them to be suitably string enough to hold him.
The movement was enough to illicit a sudden reaction from the statuesque shadow-man. Its head moved as though it were looking to Reynolds’ wrist, then the thing turned on its heels and walked out, leaving the door open.
Uncertain as to whether he was in the right place, Reynolds decided against showing his hand just yet, and so waited patiently.

[Keeper]

“All hands, all hands! Docking Stations. Repeat – All hands to Docking Stations!” came Mr Whitby’s voice over the ship’s intercom.
Nestor Wade cast a confident look at the men around him, nodded to each, and set forth for the bridge of the Waterwitch.

As he stepped onto the main control room for the unusual vessel he gave a mocking grin to Gecko but remained quiet and took his seat behind the ship’s wheel as a young man named Harry Luck climbed out. Harry was one of the vessel’s third-watch coxswains and didn’t have the experience Wade had in docking the huge boat with the airlocks on Haven.

Wade perched on the edge of his seat instead of adopting his usual laid-back attitude as he wanted quick access to the pistol shoved down the back of his trousers.
“Slow to one-third!” Gecko ordered from the back of the compartment alongside the chart table where Captain Holt was studying the maps, making calculations and issuing his instructions.

**

“Oh for fuck-sake, you arsehole!” Jake Cotton swore at Gary Tuke as he fumbled with the keys in the lock.
“Those were the keys on the hook!” Gary defended.
“Wade’s going to do his nut!” Cotton groaned. “We can’t well take over the boat without any bloody guns now, can we? It’s no good, we’re going to have to go back and get the right ones, you twat!”
“All right, you English ass, enough of the grief. How was I to know the keys hanging on the hook for the small arms locker weren’t the keys for the small arms locker?” Tuke shrugged.
“Come on you Yankee twat!” Cotton ran back through the passageways towards the quartermasters office.

**

Nestor Wade huffed in his seat and fidgeted, looking over his shoulder towards the bridge door.
“Where the hell are they?” he muttered under his breath.
“Is there a problem. Mr Wade?” Seth Gecko asked from behind him.
“Not yet!” Wade whispered then shouted “No!”
“Good.”
Tension was high on the bridge at the moment and it was obvious.
“Five degrees left rudder!” Gecko called. Wade turned the wheel.

**

Jim Muldridge glanced down the corridor. It was clean and bright here, with white painted bulkheads and what appeared to be walnut doors lining the passageway. Beyond the doors were the passenger cabins.
It was the door on the port side, at the far end of the passage that interested Muldridge – that was the door to the cabin suite of Mr Jonathan Reynolds and his family.
Right now they were inside, but there was no telling if they would come out or not. Until Guthrey’s men turned up with the rifles, they weren’t going to be pushing anyone onto the bridge and holding them hostage.
Muldridge jumped as Leon Chambers emerged from the end of the passageway and came up alongside him.
“Can’t bloody find her anywhere!” he informed Muldridge.
Jim shrugged. “No good now, mate. We’re out of time.”
“Talking of time,” Chambers said looking about, “where’s our bloody guns?”

[Keeper]

It had been quite a wait for Lord Reynolds and his arms were aching, but now two of the shadow-men entered ahead of another figure, this one clad in a grey business suit with an odd, plastic looking head.
Reynolds recognised Eric Schimler. Good, he thought, at least I am in the right place!
Schimler came and stood before Reynolds looking for all the world like a man sizing up a slab of beef for the best cut!
“I’m not sure that the scarf thing you have wrapped around your ace is entirely necessary as I can guess that you are either from the crew of the Waterwitch, or you are under the employ of its captain?”
Reynolds refrained from answering him so Schimler pulled the scarf away. The German frowned, not recognising the face before him.
“So who the hell are you?”
Again Reynolds refrained from answering.
Schimler looked disappointed. “Oh, come now,” he said with a sigh, “are we going to play games? I find such things so tedious. I obviously don’t recognise you even after I have removed your theatrical disguise. I can understand why you would wish to remain anonymous but such impoliteness’ aren’t conducive to a civil conversations. So which are you, crew or contractor?”
Reynolds gave a little derisive laugh. “Neither, you omitted friend.”
“Of course, yes. That would be the other reason. So you are a friend of Miss Buxley, hey? She will be pleased to have company but it is a great pity for you, as Miss Buxley has found herself in a situation and has now dragged you into it. I am afraid you will have to remain here until Miss Buxley’s situation has been resolved. You are being administered with a cerebral concoction that will mix with the effects of your tab and prolong your stay in the scope indefinitely. Do you have anyone taking care of your body? I do hope so, but tell me where it is, that way I can send someone to take care of your physical self while you are detained?”
Ignoring Schimler’s waffle, Reynolds glanced at the chains holding him. “You talk of civil conversations, sir, but continue to keep me trussed up like this. Hardly conducive either is it?”
Schimler’s plastic face smiled condescendingly at Reynolds. “And let you go running around my domain – guns blazing? Oh, we took the gun off you by the way. But we have much to do today. Miss Buxley gets to spin the wheel again. This time though, she’ll have you as company.”
Schimler turned to the shadows and said, “Bring him to the room and keep his hands bound.”
With that the German turned on the spot and walked back out.
“Likes to hear himself speak!” Reynolds mused silently.

[Keeper]

Huang Che Sung was just thirteen years old and he had served on the Waterwitch for nearly five years.
His father had been the laundryman on board and, having no other family as they were killed in the Chino-Japanese wars, he brought his son aboard to learn the trade. When old Ho Min died of the fever last year, Holt offered the job to Che Sung.

Che looked suspiciously at the boiler in the corner of the laundry. It gurgled and burped as the water reached boiling point. The lid rattled and chinked and Che huffed.
He hauled a sodden bed sheet out of the cleaning tank and slopped it onto the draining board.
A huge clang rattled from the cylindrical boiler followed by a great gout of steam rising up to the deckhead and spreading out like a fog.
Che swore at it in Chinese. He was the opinion that as long as he didn’t swear in English then god wouldn’t mind.
The boiler was a nuisance as the run-off valve had rusted and was too stiff to operate by hand.
Che grabbed a wrench and squared up to the dull grey cylinder. “You play nice!” he threatened wagging the business end of the wrench at it.
He fitted the wrench and gave it a hard tug. The valve creaked open slightly.
With a concerted effort Che yanked hard on the wrench again.
The valve gave, releasing the contents of the boiler down into the large mechanical washing machine, but the sudden lack of resistance had made Che stumble backwards where he cracked his head on another valve.
Wincing and staggering forwards he rubbed at the back of his head. His hand came away bloody and he gave a sigh of resignation.
After shutting off the valve again, he poured powder and bundled more bed linen into the steaming tub of the machine cranked a lever to set it running.
Then, with an annoyed shrug he departed in search of the doctor.

At sick bay Che found it empty, with the exception of an unconscious woman he knew to be Lilly Buxley.
With his hand pressed to the back of his head still, he gave an frustrated sigh and turned for the doctor’s cabin.

Jim Muldridge saw him as he the far corner of the passageway.
“What do you want chinky?” he asked then noticed the boy’s wound.
“looking for the Doc,” Che responded indignantly and fixing Muldridge with a steely glare. He didn’t like Muldridge.
“He ain’t here boy, so fuck off!”
Che gave a start and turned to leave. As he did he noticed some men from the stores party carrying rifles.
Smart enough not to react and to just carry on out of sight he quickly turned back to peer around the corner of the bulkhead.
They were definitely there to cause mischief, Che could tell that from their whispered conversation and their generally nervous demeanour. Jake Cotton, Gary Tuke, Leon Chambers and Jim Muldridge, Che noted, and watched dumbfounded as the men, all now armed with rifles moved cautiously towards one of the cabin doors.

**

Cpatian Lindsey Holt moved now from the chart table to the sound-o-graph room, where the operator was seeing an image of the ocean floor projected like an Etherscope viewer, onto a green tinted device that looked similar to a porthole.
“Outer markers just coming into view now cap’n,” the man said without taking his eyes off the screen.
“Good,” Holt nodded. “Switch view to pilot’s station.”
The sound-o-graph man turned a heavy switch and his screen went blank, another similar screen just in front of Nestor Wade sprang into life.

“Mr Wade, you have the markers, take us in nice and slow,” Holt commanded as he returned to the bridge and took his seat.
Wade couldn’t be bothered to answer him, besides, his mouth was bone dry due to his nerves. What was taking them so long? His men should be here by now.
Thoughts of how his plans could have gone wrong slipped unbidden into his mind.
First, he considered how everyone had backed out at the last minute, but dismissed the idea as Brewer would have found a way of letting him know.
Perhaps they’d been discovered and were in a fight to gain control? Again he dismissed the idea, someone would have reported something to the bridge by now.
Then his thoughts came to HIM – Reynolds! The interfering toff had somehow discovered the plan and was sneaking around the boat slitting his men’s throats? No, stupid idea!
“Damn you Brewer!” Wade cursed the greasy haired young man and his stories of Reynolds sneaking through the night like some sort of old world assassin.
“Is there a problem Mr Wade?” Seth Gecko asked.
Wade glared at Gecko. Had he cursed Brewer aloud? “No, just cursing Brewer and the disgusting coffee he made earlier. It’s playing hell with my guts,” he lied.
“Do you need to be excused from your post?” Gecko asked optimistically.
“No!” Wade barked, very aware that Gecko would have liked nothing better.

**

Jonah Brewer was nearly shaking with a mixture of fear and excitement. He was disappointed that he hadn’t managed to find Paige, but that could wait. What troubled him was trying to figure out how he could get Wade to keep her.
He was pondering just that dilemma as he climbed the ladder up to the cabin deck.
Standing against the bulkhead ahead of him and peering around the corner was little Che Sung. Brewer’s eyes narrowed evilly as he realised the boy was watching what was happening at the Reynolds family cabin.
He crept along the passageway, failing to notice the comparison between himself and Reynolds at that point.
Pouncing on the boy he hoisted him from the ground by his collar. “Gotcha, you little fucker!” Brewer said jubilantly.
“Whatya doin’?” Chambers inquired.
“Caught this little bugger spying” he said. “Come on then. Let’s get on with it, we’re late already.”
Che Sung perched on tiptoes, watching wide eyed as Leon Chambers knocked forcefully on the cabin door.
It was opened by a man who reminded Jonah Brewer of the older of the Reynolds brother, but this one was much rounder in the face and wider at the waist.
Jonathan Reynolds’ pleasant smile dropped the instant he saw the guns.
Muldridge and Chambers pushed their way into the cabin, their rifles held threateningly, eliciting a scream from Mrs Reynolds, and frightened whimpers from the children.
“What is the meaning of this?” Jonathan demanded.
“This, my old son,” said Muldridge with delight “means you’re fucked!”

[Keeper]

“This is preposterous!” Jonathan Reynolds fumed, standing tall in front of his family. “My brother will hear of this,” he added and without realising it he had just undermined himself in both the eyes of his wife and the armed men surrounding them.
“That’s the plan!” Jonah Brewer sniggered. “Then we’re going to be killing us a Reynolds, one way or another!”
Jonathan bridled and Mrs Reynolds whimpered and slumped into a chair as her legs went weak.
“That’s enough Brewer,” Muldridge said, then turned to Cotton and Tuke. “You two stay here with Brewer. We’re on our way up to the bridge.”
Brewer stepped forward and said, “Sit down ,” then whipped the butt of his pistol across Jonathan’s face.
Mary Reynolds screamed as Jonathan hit the floor with a resounding thud, his expression one of dazed bewilderment.
Brewer chuckled, then yelped as Che Sung stamped on his foot pulling free of the crewman’s grasp.
Before anyone could react, Che was out of the door.
“Shit Brewer!” Chambers cursed then called “Get him then!”

Tuke, Cotton and he charged after the little Chinese lad.

**

“Engine Room, Bridge,” Mr Whitby called over the communications channel.
“Engine Room!” came the response.
“Begin charging hydraulic cylinders five and six,” Whitby ordered.
“Aye sir, begin charging five and six,” the man on the other end of the comms line repeated the command.
Whitby heard the man relaying the orders over the open channel and awaited confirmation of commencement which came a minute later.
“Engine room confirms charging on five and six,” Whitby called out.
“Thank you Mr Whitby,” Gecko answered.
“All stop!” Captain Holt called from within the sound-o-graph room and gecko relayed the command to Wade.
“Aye, all stop,” repeated Wade whilst pulling on the signal lever that would relay the command to the engine room.
Again Wade glanced over his shoulder but found the doorway onto the bridge disappointingly empty. Of course, he could have delayed matters by accidentally relaying the wrong information to the engine room, but subconsciously his own pride in his abilities wouldn’t let him.
“Engine room reports all-stop, Mr Gecko,” Whitby announced, the handset still pressed to his ear.
“Very good. Tell them to lower the forward and after lateral thrusters,” Gecko said.
Whitby nodded at him and relayed the order.

Within a few minutes the Waterwitch shuddered as she made contact with the huge docking clamps on the outside of Haven.
“Kelland says we have a hard seal, sir!” Whitby announced.
“Well, done Mr Wade

**

Che Sung darted around the corner and leaped for the ladder.
“Oi! You little shit! Get back here!” Tuke called out as he made a grab for the young lad, but the boy was too quick for him and scurried up the ladder to the next deck.
The three men followed quickly too, chasing the Chinese boy through narrow passageways until he made it finally to the bridge ladder and took it at a run just as Jake Cotton reached it.
The man managed to get a hand to Che’s ankle but the young boy stabbed at it with the small set of scissors he always had in the pocket of his worn waistcoat.
“Ow, you little fuck!” Cotton yelped, snatching his hand away and dropping his rifle to block the scissor blades as they were swept in close to his face.
The rifle clattered to the deck, the hammer jumping back and darting forward with the pull of the spring.
The shot going off was a shock to all four of them and the stood as though frozen in time, staring at the smoking barrel.
Leon Chambers slowly looked down between his legs to the tatty hole in the bulkhead and not too far below his crotch.
When he looked back up Jake Cotton, Gary Tuke and Che Sung were all staring at the hole too.
It was then that Leon realised he had been holding his breath. He let it out in a long sigh of relief and glared at Cotton.
“You twat!” he snarled through gritted teeth.
Che snapped out of his stunned inertness and clambered up the ladder.
Tuke barged Cotton out of the way and followed.

**

All eyes turned to the door of the bridge and a silence had fallen across the men gathered there.
Holt stepped out of the sound-o-graph room. “Was that…?”
“A gunshot?” Gecko finished, and then answered. “It sure as hell sounded like one.”
Then, before anyone could say anything another sounded, this time from just beyond the door.
Che sung fell in the doorway, hitting the hard deck with a resounding slap, a huge bloody hole in his back.
“What the hell?” Gecko moved towards the boy but stepped back when Chambers and Tuke rushed in brandishing their weapons.

“At last!” Wade sighed, as he moved from his seat.
“What the hell is going on here?” Holt demanded angrily of the two interlopers.
Wade didn’t give them time to reply.
“All right there Gecko, get your hands away from that shooter!” he ordered, flicking the pistol he now held in the first-mate’s direction.
“That’s it, take it out nice and slow and drop it on the deck.”
“Wade? What are you doing?” Holt demanded again.
“Everyone, hands in the air!” Wade barked, ignoring Holt’s question but waving his pistol in his direction to get him to comply.
“Well it’s about damned time!” Gecko said with what sounded like relief, as though he had been not so much expecting something like this to happen, but actually waiting for it.
There was a moment of confusion that ran through Wade’s mind. Was Gecko actually glad? Had he wanted Holt replaced? Had Wade misread Gecko?
“Oh don’t get your britches all in a twist there Wade, I ain’t offering to join your little party, no, I’m just glad I’ve now got the excuse to put a rope around your neck or a bullet through your skull, you mutinous bastard.” Gecko’s face oozed loathing as he stared at Wade.
“Enough of your shit Gecko. You’d best consider yourself lucky that little chinky here bought it, cos I was going to shoot you straight off, just so the captain knew we were serious. Well now my point’s been made for me. And just to make sure you don’t do nothing stupid, we’ve got your girl and the toff’s family as insurance, understand?”
Holt exchanged a worried glance with Gecko, but nodded.
“Good! Now I’m taking over command of thin boat, you understand that?”
Again a nod from the captain.
“Very good, Holt! You play nice and you get to leave with your daughter and whoever remains loyal to you. But the Witch is mine, you hear?”
“For now,” Holt hissed.
“Oh, and by the way,” Wade continued choosing to ignore Holt, “where is the bloody toff?”

[Keeper]

The plastic like avatar of Eric Schimler led a chained Reynolds through a number of passageways that were designed to mimic the dungeons beneath an old medieval castle.
There were even cells which contained all sorts of things, mostly instruments of torture, but as they passed one such cell the door opened and a woman in leather straps adorned with silver studs stepped out. On seeing Schimler and the shadow-guards she pressed herself back into the doorway, a slight look of fear on her face.
Beyond her, Reynolds noticed a man chained to a wall. He was naked except for a vicar’s dog-collar around his neck. He was also sporting two things of which Reynolds happened to note: an erection and a huge smile. That man may have been bound there, but he was sure pleased to be so.
“Nice place you have here, Schimler!” Reynolds quipped.
“Thank you, Mr Mystery-man, but alas I cannot take the credit. This wonderful world of debauchery is the domain of a business acquaintance. I am merely renting a small part of it from him.”
“and he knows you are torturing a young woman here?”
“Of course, in fact he approves! Miss Buxley is set to make our host some considerable profit during her short stay here. True snuff experiences are so hard to find, you see?”
Reynolds made a mental note to find out who this other man was and to pay him a visit one day, in the flesh, and find out what he truly thought about snuff experiences.

Eventually Reynolds was led into the circular room he had seen on the scope recording. He glanced back at the door making a note of its location.
Eric spotted the interest. “Oh don’t bother, now the door has closed its destination will have randomly changed.”
Another door opened and a nude Lilly May Buxley was led from it, flanked by two of the shadow-guards.
Reynolds smirked as he saw her stride defiantly up to the circular dais where Schimler had now perched.
Despite her lack of clothing she walked straight backed, her breasts pushed forwards and stood before the plastic looking man with her feet apart and her hands on her hips.
“Well Eric, what are you going to throw at me today?”
Schimler gave a little laugh. “Ah Frauline, you are a card. You know we’ll have you screaming for death, or in ecstasy, or both within the hour don’t you?”
Buxley gritted her teeth then spat at Schimler.
Reynolds laughed then glad to see that Lilly’s mind hadn’t cracked. “Good for you!” he said.
She glared at him. “Who the hell are you?”
“A friend of Mac’s,” Reynolds said with a slight nod of his head.
“Your would-be rescuer, my dear!” Schimler added jovially. “Not a great effort so far, don’t you think?”
Reynolds shrugged. “I cannot deny what Mr Schimler has said, so far my efforts at a rescue do seem somewhat shoddy.”
“Well enough of that!” Schimler said seriously. “Now you get to pick another door, and this time Mr Friend-of-Mac gets to watch. Hell, he might even get to join in! Shall we?” Schimler waved a sweeping arm towards the surrounding doors.
“However,” Reynolds now said, continuing his own part of the conversation. “As rescues go, surely they can only be judged on the outcome once the said rescuer has found the rescuee. Before that point it is purely a hunt.”
“What?” Schimler frowned at Reynolds.
“And,” Reynolds added with a smile, “Mr Schimler really ought to have paid better attention to his prisoner.”
“What are you talking about?” Buxley asked, not following the strange top hat wearing figures speech.
“Yes, what indeed, my dear?” Schimler said getting annoyed with the supercilious twaddle.

Suddenly the shackles binding Reynolds’ wrists and ankles clattered noisily to the floor.
Reynolds reacted quickly then, a huge pistol that resembled an oversized sawn-off shotgun appeared in his hand and was levelled at the shadow guard to his right.
Flame and smoke erupted from the barrel, the weapons creator had gone to great lengths to get the effect right. The shadow guard disintegrated in a shower of red sparks.
The second guard lunged at Reynolds and nearly got hold of him except that Lilly barged it aside.
As it regained its balance it came face to face with the swan-off. A half second later and it was just so many red glowing dust-motes.

Reynolds moved, assessing the situation and the position of the remaining shadows.
Oddly, both had adopted a defensive posture, positioning themselves between Schimler and himself.
Did this mean Schimler was concerned for his own safety?
The German stood and clapped his hands slowly in mock praise. “Bravo, sir, Bravo! However you still have the issue of escape. You need to find the right door!”
Reynolds considered the man’s words then pointed the gun a Lilly.
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mr Mystery-man. The chemicals we’ve been programming her to self-produce have an odd side effect. It convinces the subconscious that this is reality. Killing her here would convince her subconscious mind that she is dead and more than likely will kill her for real.”
“Eric, you’re full of shit!” Lilly spat.
Reynolds wasn’t so sure of that. Schimler’s concern over his own safety demonstrated by the shadow guards protecting him, made the Baron wonder if Schimler might have been partaking of his own product?
“Been in the scope long, Eric?” he asked coolly.
Schimler stiffened and narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “You’re a smart one, Mr Mystery-man, which means you now know I’m not bluffing.”
Glancing at Lilly Reynolds knew he had to come up with a different plan.
He thrust the shotgun to Lilly. “Take this ,” he ordered and she gladly obeyed.
“If any of them moves, kill them, starting with Schimler.”
“Whatever you intend to do, I would make it quick,” Schimler interrupted and as he spoke several doors opened and more shadow guards emerged, surrounding Schimler in a protective sea of black.

Reynolds pulled Lilly back, nearly as far as the wall behind them, and at the same time pulled a contraption that looked like a net-gun from some hidden fold in his clothing.
“When I fire this a door will appear. You must run for it as quickly as possible, do you understand?” Reynolds whispered quietly in Lilly’s direction.
The nude woman nodded. Reynolds rolled towards the shadows, coming up so that he had his back to them.
The gun fired, four round weights spreading a thin net out which struck the wall and stayed in place.
A shimmering blue-white doorway appeared between them.
“Go!” Reynolds yelled as several black shadow guards grasped at him.
Reynolds was already dodging sideways, avoiding the clawing hands.
Lilly bolted for the doorway passing through the wall as though it wasn’t there.
Reynolds was close on her heels.

Eric Schimler watched the proceedings with surprise.
“Where does he get those wonderful toys?” he mused to no one in particular.

As Reynolds too disappeared through the gateway the German yelled for his guards to follow, but as the first one approached the four round weights exploded, ripping the code that formed the ether into a wall to shreds. The wall blasted outwards in a ball of flame, destroying dozens of the shadow-men and tearing one of Schimler’s arms off at the elbow.

[Keeper]

Sebastian Reynolds laughed.
It was the sort of laugh that comes after incredible stress; slightly hysterical.
He was lying face-down on a plush blue carpet, his head to one side so that the back of an old oak desk was in his view.
Both the carpet and the desk were familier to him, as was the rest of the office that came into view as he rolled over and sat up.
Everything that was, except for the naked brunette brandishing a gun in his direction.
She was standing, both hands wrapped around the grip of the shotgun-like weapon he had given her, shaking slightly with the weight of it.
It struck Reynolds as an almost comical sight, and given different circumstances might have proven to be an interesting distraction.
“I recognise you,” Lillian May Buxley said now that she could see the man in the tall top hat clearer. “Aren’t you the passenger on the Witch?”
Reynolds arose and gave a sweeping bow. “Indeed I am, Madam.”
“Ambrose, isn’t it?” Buxley asked.
“Only when I need to be,” Reynolds said flippantly. He was making an effort to maintain eye contact with Lilly and trying to ignore her nudity. He couldn’t help feeling that his gallantry was steadily losing ground.
“So, who are you when you don’t need to be Ambrose?” the young woman inquired.
“Perhaps we’d better carry on this conversation when you aren’t pointing a gun at me, and when, sadly, you are wearing more clothes!”

Lilly looked down at her own nakedness and the realisation that her ordeal was indeed over hit home. The big gun sagged in her hands as her arms seemed to lose all their strength and her shoulders shook with the beginnings of a sob which very soon boiled over into a flood of tears.
Reynolds took the gun from her and it disappeared, then he removed his coat and wrapped it around the woman who looked at this moment more like a frightened little girl.
Taking her in his arms he let her cry, her face buried in his chest.

Reynolds imagined he’d be there longer but Lilly seemed to pull herself together after only a quarter of an hour.
“Get me out of here,” she pleaded in a squeaky voice that still seemed to be fighting back the emotions.
Bur Reynolds couldn’t, not yet. She’d have to stay here until whatever Schimler had done to her wore off.
This was his domain, he informed her, so she would be safe as long as she stayed put.
He told her that he would have to go and report back to Captain Holt and let him know that she was safe.
What he didn’t want to do right now was sit here with her covered only in his own coat, with thoughts of her beautiful nude body running wild in his head. Besides, the longer he remained, the greater chance there was that she would ask after Mac, and that was the last thing she needed right now. It was better that she found that out surrounded by friends and in familiar surroundings.
Lilly surprised Reynolds in her pragmatism as she simply agreed to his rules.

Now of course would be the time Reynolds discovered if Schimler’s mind control trickery had worked on him.
Mentally he flicked a switch.
His office faded to black and he had that familiar giddy feeling as his senses were swept away towards the Prime Reality.

[Keeper]

Edgar King, a man of some six feet in height, had to hunch slightly as he looked around the noisy, confined compartment at the astounded faces of his colleagues.
Each of them had heard the events up on the bridge being broadcast aropund the engine room thanks to Mr Whitby keeping his fingers on the transmit button on his handset.
They heard Wade issuing orders, sending Holt, Gecko and the other bridge officers away to the brig and calling for more of his men to come forward and take over.
The intercom speaker went dead as Whitby was forced to leave the handset.

“No way in hell!” King heard someone from down below call out angrily.

Before any more could be said the intercom sounded, Nestor Wade’s distinct voice crackled into life.
“Now hear this you lot! Captain Holt has been relieved of his command of this boat and the senior command crew has been replaced. I, Nestor Wade, am taking over as the captain, and owner of the Waterwitch. I trust the change in ownership will go smoothly and warn anyone and everyone that I have armed crewmen who will shoot anyone trying to stop us. That include the women and children we have as … insurance.”

“What the hell do we do now?” another voice called from somewhere below King.
King leaned on the hand-rail and broadcast his voice across the engine room like a minister preaching from his pulpit.
“I’ll tell you what we do… We turn off the power, make life difficult, then we get some guns and fight that slippery son-of-a-bitch!”
“Hell, yeah!” came a shout from the back of the room that proved infectious and swept through the compartment.

[Keeper]

“Move your arse!” Muldridge said sternly as he gave Holt a shove with the barrel of his rifle.
Holt had stopped to speak with Gecko and Wade’s man had interjected immediately.
The former captain stumbled forwards and glared at Muldridge, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he bit back his anger, but he said nothing.
“You mind yourself, James Muldridge,” Seth Gecko hissed dangerously.
“Shut your mouth, Seth. You ain’t in charge round he no more. Pitty Wade didn’t shoot you like we’d planned.”

The group were led on, Holt Gecko and Whitby flanked by Muldridge and five other armed supporters of Nestor Wade.
After a short while they came to the brig where two barred cells awaited them.
“You’re all Damned to hell for this, Muldridge,” Holt stated. “If Anyone else gets hurt then God help you!”
“Keep your religious babble, Holt! Ain’t no one comin to help you out so you better be more worried about what’s going to happen to you.”
“How about this, you fuck?” Gecko pressed himself against the bars to get as close to Muldridge as he could. “I’m going to kill you all for what happened to Che.”
Muldridge sneered but there was a look in Gecko’s eyes that made the words of a retort catch in his throat.
Muldridge had seen a man with just such a look in his eyes many years ago. Pathological hatred, someone had called it. That man, whose family had been killed when the British had ‘quelled’ a rebellion in New Guiney, had gone on a spree that left fifty two British soldiers dead and maybe as many again injured. But he hadn’t gone on a mad rampage though, no, he’d meticulously planned his assault and had sat in the bar night after night with that dreadful look that Jim knew he’d never forget. And he knew he’d just seen it again.

Suddenly there was a distant cracking and popping and the lights went out casting them all in absolute darkness.
“What the hell?” Jim Muldridge wondered aloud.
Emergency lights flickered to life so that the vessel appeared as though it was illuminated by candle light.
“That’s gunfire,” one of the other men announced.
“Shit!” Muldridge cursed. “Two of you stay here, the rest come with me.

[Keeper]

Edgar King threw himself flat to the floor and crawled back towards the open door.
Two of the engine room crew were shooting over him towards the similar heavy doorway at the far end of the passageway.
Their shots were fast and poorly aimed, which didn’t matter, they served their purpose in keeping Wade’s men hidden while King got back into cover.
Edgar hauled himself through the steel framed doorway and slammed the watertight door in place then sat panting rapidly and looked to his friends in exasperation.
“What about Walt?” one of them asked.
King shook his head his face shadowed with sadness. “He’s gone,” the big man said.

A few minutes later another of the crew arrived with news that the port side team were having similar problems.
“Alright,” King said hauling himself up. “Forget two-deck. Now we take the service tunnels that hold the ether pipes. I don’t suppose Wade’s goons even know they are there!”
The other noded their agreement and left two of their number behind to secure the door and make sure that Wade’s followers couldn’t come through that way.

As King climbed through the maintenance hatchway into the dark hot and confined tunnel he looked over his shoulder as said, “Remember, quiet down here. If Wade’s lot discover us and start shooting they could rupture a pipe and blow us all to kingdom come. And tell the three deck boys to keep pressing forward.”