Marek woke him once they were near the port. Rulio was confused for a few moments; he thought he was still on the island, or hadn’t yet arrived – but then his mind grew clearer, and he knew he had escaped that place.
“How did you go?” he asked Marek.
The boy shrugged. “It was simple enough.”
“That’s good.” He had shown Marek the basics of steering the boat earlier, semi-lucid from fatigue, before checking on Keresi again and then collapsing into his bunk. He hadn’t slept long, perhaps half an hour, but it had helped immensely. He felt fresh, positive. Then he remembered Keresi, and Beck, and the anger rose again.
He also remembered another thing that had nearly slipped his mind: Roland had taken the dog tags from him, which meant they had no evidence to show for their efforts. Would they even be able to turn in the mission and get their Expedition Points? He wasn’t so sure, but they’d have to try.
He stood up and walked to the ship’s wheel, then guided the Raven past the perimeter wall’s huge turrets and through into the harbour. The water was a shimmering white mirror under the early morning sun. After finding an empty berth at the Privateer’s dock they secured the boat, then carefully carried Keresi onto shore atop a makeshift stretcher. Muno remained in the ship, sleeping on Beck’s bunk. Rulio was wearing his Captain’s coat, though he had left his hat onboard. Marek was dressed in his plain military-green fatigues, but wore them with a visible pride.
It felt strange, being back amidst the bustling of the Port. It was busier than it had been when they’d left, but he found it to be a comforting kind of urgency, a reassuring discharge of social energy.
Yes, he told himself, this was how the world really was. He had almost forgotten. It was peculiar how quickly the memories of the island, and what he had seen there, sunk into a dim other world within the shadow of all the familiarity around him. In that other place, the memories became nothing more than vague images and feelings, overridden by the present.
Had it all been some kind of a dream, after all? Thinking about it, it seemed to him that if he was here now, and here was like this, then surely a place like the island couldn’t exist in the same world. It was too different, too jarring, too terrible.
That’s what he felt like believing, anyway. But he also couldn’t forget the truth that was seared into his mind, right behind the wishfulness.
The hospital was just a few minutes away from the dock, and not too busy, and Keresi was quickly admitted once they arrived. The nurses all thought that Rulio was joking when he told them what had happened to his friend. They stifled their laughter as Rulio talked about the giant dogs, but their faces grew serious once they saw Keresi’s wounds, and then they talked to each other in hushed voices.
“How are you feeling?” He asked Keresi once the nurses had settled him into a bed.
“Well, shit – I’ve been better,” Keresi replied roguishly, as a nurse began injecting a syringe of fluid into his IV. He looked to his side. “Although I’m probably doing better than him.” In the bed next to him was a man with no left arm – sleeping, or unconscious, or dead.
Rulio managed a smile. “I’d say so, K. And anyhow, we left your dog in a damn sight worse shape than it left you.”
“You killed it?”
“Yes, we got it. I think I went a little crazy, to be honest – stabbed it a few too many times.” Rulio smiled again, and this time it was easier. “It didn’t much like that.”
Keresi threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, well done! That’ll show that fu-” he shot a glance at the nurse, “that damn dog what’s what.” He relaxed into the bed. Whatever medication the nurse had given him must have been starting to take effect. “Thanks, Captain,” he added with a sigh. “I don’t remember too much after… after it got me.” Keresi’s eyes were looking heavier and heavier.
Rulio reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “It was my pleasure, K.”
It was time to let Keresi sleep. Rulio gestured to Marek, and they left the nurses to their work.
“He’s doing well,” Marek remarked as they walked through the hospital’s heavy double doors and onto the street.
Rulio nodded. “He’s tough. It’ll take more than a dog to keep him down,” he replied. “Even if that dog appears to have spawned straight out of hell itself.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Marek looking across at him curiously, likely trying to determine if he had just made a joke. Let the boy wonder, Rulio thought, and smiled to himself.
The next thing to do was to turn in the mission.
The Expedition Office was as nondescript as ever. Inside, Petty Officer Ford was working away behind his desk, looking as amiable as can be. It was as though nothing at all had happened between the last time they were here, and now.
Ford looked up as Rulio and Marek walked into the room, and stared at them with widening eyes. “Jesus Christ! You really did make it back.”
Rulio stared back at him. “Some of us.”
Ford disregarded the remark. “Do you have your mission report?” he asked, once his initial amazement at their appearance had passed.
Rulio winced. With all the drama, he had neglected to fill one out. “I haven’t, yet – can we still turn in the mission?”
“Yes, of course,” Ford said reassuringly, “Perhaps just a quick rundown then, eh?”
Rulio’s eyes glazed over slightly. He was still not awake enough to give Ford many details of what had happened on the island. “They were dead,” he began. “The paratroopers. All of them, as far as I could tell. And then we had to get out of there – it was all going south very quickly.” He sighed. “If you want the full report, I’ll come by tomorrow.”
“No, that’s alright,” Ford replied, and jotted down some notes. “We thought as much.”
A strange remark.
“I also had the paratroopers’ dog tags, but they were… misplaced,” Rulio added.
“I see. No matter - the Port Authority is satisfied that you fulfilled your obligations.” Ford began reaching for something from his desk.
“What? How can you know?” Rulio asked him in disbelief. “I have no evidence.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s above my pay grade, Captain. All I know is that the approval for your completion of the mission came through yesterday. One hundred Expedition Points for you and your crew, including Keresi – interesting, there’s no last name listed here – and Beck Tagobi, in absentia.” Ford quickly studied a sheet of paper, then said “Congratulations on reaching Silver Class.” He fished around in his desk and then handed a silver ring to each of them.
Like the Bronze ring, it featured an eagle’s head – but instead of a flat side-profile relief, the eagle’s face was now sculpted to stare out at him from straight-on. The bird’s sharp, curved beak had been set in gold, and the band featured a lined, subtly floral engraved design. Rulio slipped off and then pocketed his Bronze ring, then slid the Silver ring into its place. It was a nice reward for their efforts – but had it been worth what happened with Keresi and Beck? Definitely not.
“Don’t forget to visit the Armoury before your next expedition, to make the most of your new rank,” Ford reminded them. He eagerly began reaching for a pile of papers. “Did you want to select a new mission now?”
Rulio waved his hand up and down to temper Ford’s enthusiasm. “I think we’ll hold off on a new mission for the time being. We could do with some… recalibration.”
“Certainly,” Ford said, though he seemed disappointed. He pushed over a sheaf of small paper notes. “Your payment for the mission, in Port Authority credits.”
Rulio swept up the credits, folded them in a roll, and put them in a pouch on his belt. He would distribute them properly later. The PA credits were less versatile than cash in general, but they would also go further than cash here at Port Authority specifically. And with the completion of this mission, Rulio had finally amassed enough to buy what he had been saving for.
Ford handed Rulio another small slip of paper. “I’ve also been told that you will need to meet with a BARO representative today, in order to debrief. The nature of your mission was… quite unique, it seems. You’ll find his details on here. BARO have co-opted the old Aviation building-”
“I know the one,” Rulio interrupted.
“Excellent – well, all the best then. I’ll have the mission list waiting here for you whenever you’re ready to head out again.”
Rulio nodded, and then began walking to the door.
“Oh, and Captain?” Ford called out. Rulio turned to see the clerk giving him a sympathetic smile. “I’m glad you made it back,” Ford finished.
Rulio half-heartedly returned the smile, and then walked with Marek back out onto the street.
The place Ford had sent him to was only a short walk away, towards the centre of the Port and most of its military infrastructure. Once he was inside the tall, austere building, a soldier escorted Rulio up several flights of stairs, down a narrow corridor, and then he was ushered through a doorway.
The room on the other side of the door was sparse. Its predominant feature was a small table holding a lamp, a few piles of paper, a pen, an ashtray, and a large, steaming mug. Seated on a thick leather chair behind it was a man in a dark grey suit, a lit cigarette perched effortlessly in his left hand. He looked up as Rulio walked into the room, then stood up and put out his free hand. “Agent McEnroe,” was all he gave as an introduction. The man had a thick head of brown hair, shot through with thin streaks of silver. Deep ravines ran outwards from the corners of his dark green eyes, which sparkled with an energy that contradicted his apparent age.
Rulio shook McEnroe’s hand, then sat down. “What’s this all about?”
McEnroe put up his hands in supplication as he sat back down. “Just a talk, that’s all. It seems you’ve been through a lot.” The man’s voice was smooth gravel.
“And how do you know anything about what we’ve been through?” Rulio asked, his eyes narrowing.
“The nurses over at the hospital told me some. The rest came from other avenues that I’m not at liberty to talk about.”
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Rulio wasn’t surprised to hear that. Annoyed, but not surprised. Whatever intelligence-gathering methods McEnroe had, Rulio wasn’t important enough to know about them. It was yet another part of the grand bureaucratic game that he didn’t know the rules to.
“You’re from BARO?” Rulio asked, changing the subject.
McEnroe nodded, blowing out a stream of dusky smoke.
“Fantastic. And just what the hell is that?”
McEnroe looked genuinely concerned. “You mean nobody’s told you yet?”
Rulio shook his head.
“My apologies, then,” McEnroe said. He took a measured sip from the large mug on his desk before he continued speaking. “The Bureau of Anomalous Reconnaissance and Exploration is a new agency, borne out of the Further Security Act.”
Rulio had never heard of it. “When was that enacted?”
“Congress passed it towards the end of February, and the President signed off on it shortly after. This is all public information.”
Rulio considered it for a moment. “That was before the fog.”
“Yes.”
“And this Bureau’s whole point is to investigate it?”
“That’s classified,” McEnroe replied quickly. He may as well have just said yes.
Rulio steepled his hands and leant backwards, self-satisfied that he’d caught McEnroe out. “So, you knew.”
“That’s classified.”
Rulio raised his eyebrows, and very nearly rolled his eyes. There was clearly no point continuing, so he decided to change angles. “You’re military, then?”
“No.” McEnroe took another long draw from his cigarette. “Although, we have been given wide liberties to use various elements of the armed forces in our operations, when required.” He paused, obviously considering how to proceed. “The current… changing situation is a matter of fluid priority, and one which may potentially even supersede the ongoing war effort, to a degree. We’ve been given direct oversight of the Port Authority, as mandated under Directive Number Nine.”
Rulio didn’t know about all that vague jargon, but he did know what subject McEnroe was interested in. “The fog,” he said.
McEnroe’s face tightened, and his eyes betrayed his interest. “You’ve seen it.” It was a statement, not a question.
Rulio nodded.
“What was it like?” McEnroe’s mouth was slightly open, his face stuporous. From the way he was acting, it was as though Rulio had met God.
“It was… fog,” Rulio said with a shrug. “But strange.”
“What did you see?”
Rulio remained silent, as much from struggling to word his thoughts as from his natural reticence.
“Tell me about the dogs, then.” McEnroe said presently. His conversational tone was tinged with a veiled demand that Rulio didn’t appreciate. Nevertheless, it provided him an easy enough starting point.
“The dogs were like the fog,” Rulio began, “natural enough, perhaps, but twisted somehow. A mutation, maybe.”
“Please, go on.” McEnroe’s stuporous look had magnified.
“They were large,” Rulio continued. “Perhaps as large as a typical wolf – though I’ve never seen one of those up close, mind you – and they had – ah, I’m not even sure I didn’t just imagine it.”
“What?” McEnroe asked, leaning forward. “What did they have?”
“They had two sets of teeth. Like a shark.”
McEnroe leaned back. “My God.” He stared into space for a few moments, wide-eyed. “How marvellous.” He noted something down on one of the pieces of paper.
Rulio wasn’t so sure he would have described it like that – but perhaps it was, in the true sense of the word. “You’ve never heard of such a thing, have you?” he asked McEnroe. “It’s not natural, is it?”
“No,” McEnroe replied. He still seemed slightly dazed. “No, it is not.” His head shook slightly, and he seemed to come all the way back to reality. “And what of the primary matter at hand – these missing paratroopers you went after?”
Rulio’s skin immediately broke out into goosebumps as he remembered the scene in the clearing. “They were all dead. All the ones I saw. They had been flayed, wearing only their dog tags, and had been arranged in a circle. Their empty uniforms were arranged inside the circle like the spokes of a wheel. Small pieces of skin littered the area around them.” The words burst out of him in some automatic way.
McEnroe absorbed this for a second, then said “That’s unfortunate.”
It was quite the understatement, but Rulio also didn’t know a better way to react to what he’d just said.
“This particular arrangement of the bodies that you mentioned,” McEnroe said, “Can you draw it for me?”
Rulio nodded.
McEnroe slid over a piece of paper and a pencil, and Rulio sketched a quick image of the scene.
McEnroe took it back and studied it intently for a good while. “Damn,” he said. “Well if that isn’t one of the strangest Goddamn things I’ve seen yet.” He shook his head. “Thank you for this.”
Rulio nodded awkwardly, unsure of what else to do. As he looked at McEnroe, he suddenly had a sense of all the things the agent must know, behind those green eyes of his. But it didn’t seem like he had known about monstrous dogs with two sets of teeth, or the skinless soldiers, and that gave Rulio a significant amount of satisfaction. “Just what do you know about the fog?” he asked suddenly, hoping to catch McEnroe slightly off-guard and glean some information.
McEnroe considered the question for a while, and Rulio knew then that he would be getting a heavily censored answer – if McEnroe gave him anything at all.
“I like you, Rulio. Don’t get me wrong, you’re a little bit rude, though that might just be thanks to the specific nature of this meeting. But you also have a certain… fortitude.” McEnroe thought a little longer. “I’ll put it this way. We didn’t fully understand what the nature of that environment would be. The fog, I mean. You were very lucky to make it back.”
Rulio pursed his lips. “I don’t feel particularly lucky.”
“Oh, you missed the worst of it,” McEnroe said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “A lot of other crews haven’t made it back out at all.”
After his shock at the implications of that statement, said so matter-of-factly, Rulio’s next reaction was to get annoyed by McEnroe’s dismissal of his ordeal. But then he supposed that the man was right, in a way. It could have gone a lot worse.
“We had no real inkling of what was waiting there,” McEnroe continued. “These are very early days, and this is going to be a learning process. For everyone.” He put down his mug and waved his hand dismissively again. “Don’t worry, we’ll redesignate that whole area a Null Sector. You don’t have to worry about it anymore.”
“Thank you,” Rulio replied, though he wasn’t sure what that meant. Then he spoke again. “There’s another thing, McEnroe.”
The agent leaned forward, offering his attention.
“During the mission, one of my crew – her name is Beck Tagobi – was abducted by another crew,” Rulio continued. “By their Captain, specifically. A man by the name of Roland Graves.”
“Gunfire Graves?” McEnroe asked.
“Yes, he has been known by that name.”
McEnroe’s face shifted into a strange expression that Rulio couldn’t identify.
“Gunfire Graves kidnapped a member of your crew?” McEnroe reiterated.
“Yes. That’s what I’m telling you. He said her parents wanted her back, but… I don’t believe him. But as to what the real truth of it all is, I cannot say. He took her against her will, and mine.”
McEnroe looked away and rubbed his hands together thoughtfully. “Obviously, this is not something that we want happening.” He looked slightly pained. “However, given those involved, the situation might well be more complicated than even I know.” He turned his full attention to Rulio again. “But leave this with me, Captain, and I’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“Thank you,” Rulio said, and he meant it. McEnroe’s initial response had been curious, but the man seemed genuinely willing to help. From Rulio’s experience, that was no small miracle amongst government employees.
McEnroe took a last, long drag from his cigarette. “I think we’ve talked enough for one day, Captain.” He said this matter-of-factly, as if conversations really did have a natural and unavoidable runtime. “There’s one other thing.” He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. “You’ll be required to have a representative from the Port Authority with you for your next mission, on a continuing basis. The situation is fluid, as I’ve said, and we want our own eyes on the ground.” He must have noticed Rulio’s immediate look of disdain, because he shook his head and added “That’s just the way it’s going to be.”
Rulio knew that he had no say in the matter – that so long as he was a privateer for the Port Authority, their word (and by extension it now seemed, that of BARO) was law. But the interference with his crew still chafed.
“Your observer will be…” McEnroe shuffled through his papers until he found the relevant information. “Elayna Larkwood.”
Rulio had never heard of her, but the name’s immediate effect was to conjure images of some meddling old lady. He wanted to turn heel and leave without a word, but something told him that staying in McEnroe’s good graces couldn’t hurt. He managed to nod, said “Understood. It was good to meet you, McEnroe”, and then left the room as pleasantly as he could. As he left, he heard McEnroe lighting up another cigarette.
Despite all of McEnroe’s evasiveness and vaguities, his talk with the agent hadn’t been a waste. Now Rulio knew that there were people in the government, or the military, or both, that had somehow known the fog was coming.
“Who did you talk to?” Marek asked him, once he was back out onto the street. It was now well past midday, and the sun was heading swiftly towards the horizon.
“Ah, some government spook,” Rulio replied, “Works for BARO – which stands for the Bureau of Anomalous Reconnaissance and Exploration, it turns out.”
Marek nodded. “What did he want?”
Rulio didn’t want to be rude, but now that his meeting with Agent McEnroe was done, he already had other things on his mind. He didn’t want to relive the whole conversation for Marek’s benefit. “He was just asking about the fog.”
“You told him about the dogs?”
“Yes.”
“And the-” Rulio saw Marek’s eyes flash momentarily as he paused, “And the soldiers?”
“Yes,” Rulio replied. He particularly didn’t want to dwell on this topic. “I told him about Beck too. He’s going to see what he can do.”
“That’s good.”
Rulio nodded. “Hopefully he can find something out. And there’s another thing. We’ll be forced to have a Port Authority representative with us from our next mission onwards, for who knows how long. Some old woman named Elayna, apparently.”
Marek must have sensed the hostility in his tone. “And we’re not a fan of her?”
“She’s government,” Rulio said. “And that means interference. And surveillance.” He sighed, and then smiled, trying to elevate the mood. “Now come on. I have something to show you.”
The building they arrived at, like most of the buildings in Port Authority, made no effort to hide its nature. Across the façade above the door, in bold block lettering, were the words NAVAL BROKER. Rulio read it, smiled, and then strolled inside.
The ship he was after was an Interceptor-class gunship, one of the last vessels manufactured within its particular model. The updated and most recent model, the Predator-class, had more mod cons and a sleeker design, but it was also slightly larger, and the engine had been underpowered to increase reliability. Furthermore, it had a stronger standard armament, but a reduced capacity to accommodate any further custom modifications that a Captain might want to install.
The Predator-class certainly seemed better at first glance, but Rulio had done his research. The Interceptor was his ideal ship.
He walked up to the counter, which was being tended by an aged woman with greying hair. Rulio was too excited to waste time reading her name plate.
“Good afternoon,” he began, “I’d like to purchase a ship.”
“Of course, sir,” the clerk replied, “Which vessel in particular were you after?”
“There’s an Interceptor-class gunship – IG-101 – I’ve already placed a deposit for it.” Rulio reached into his belt and produced the wad of PA credits Ford had given him earlier. After splitting out Keresi, Beck, and Marek’s shares, he combined the remainder with another stack he had brought with him from the Raven. “I’m here to pay the difference,” he finished, slapping the stack of credits down onto the clerk’s desk.
The clerk gave him a grumpy look, unamused by his display. She took the credits, counted them, and then jotted down some details into a ledger.
“Everything is in order,” she said in due course. “IG-101 is all yours, sir.” The clerk handed over a slip of paper. “You’ll find it at Dock 22, in berth 48A.”
“Perfect,” Rulio said as he took the deed of ownership. “Thank you for your assistance.”
“You’re most welcome, sir,” the clerk replied, without a hint of authenticity.
Rulio was already halfway out the door.
As he walked to his new ship, he realised that he would miss the Raven. He would have to turn it back over to the Naval Registry, probably tomorrow. It was odd, but he had formed quite the attachment to the old PT boat in the short time they had been together – it had seen him through a lot, and most importantly gotten him safely away from Obelisk Island. Still, he was even more eager for the future, and that is where his thoughts turned.
It took twenty minutes to reach Dock 22. He and Marek had walked the way mostly in silence – his stomach was too full of nervous anticipation for much conversation. As he walked along the dock towards berth 48A, his legs felt increasingly unsteady under him, such was his anticipation. At long last, the moment he had been waiting for had arrived. All the postponements, all the long months of saving, were about to pay off.
Then he saw it. The Interceptor-class gunship was tethered securely in its berth, swaying gently in the water. Twenty-five metres long, it was covered in a dark grey matte paint that drank in the reddened light from the setting sun. The ship was all angles and armour plating, with two .50 calibre Brownings mounted on each side of the forward deck. Atop the sleek cabin rested an Oerlikon 1SS 20mm autocannon, the ship’s anti-aircraft instrument.
Rulio’s mind was already racing through the different modifications he could add to the ship. “There she is,” he announced, unable to keep the delight from his voice. “The Steel Turkey.”
He thought Marek might laugh at the name, but instead he just whistled and said, “Wow - it looks really good.”
Rulio eyed him, wary of any sarcasm, but the boy was giving none.
“This is what I’ve been working towards, Marek,” he said, now confident that the boy wouldn’t mock his enthusiasm. He had always assumed Keresi would be the one standing here when this moment came, but it would have to be Marek who heard this. “No more of those rickety, useless old PT boats. No more Iron.” He clapped Marek on the shoulder and smiled. “We’re Steel, now.”
Marek seemed to pick up on Rulio’s exaggerated bravado. “The Metal Bird Crew, striking out to adventure on the Steel Turkey,” the boy said, waving his hand in a dramatic arc. He smiled. “I can live with that.”
Rulio grinned at him.
They both stood silently for a while, marvelling at the ship.
Then Rulio spoke.
“We’ll get Beck back just as soon as we can, don’t worry. But first, we’ll need more crewmembers.”
“Well, we’re going to have-” Marek started, but Rulio shook his head.
“Elayna does not count,” he said, injecting his voice with disdain.
He smiled mischievously as Marek laughed at that, and then a comfortable silence settled over the two men again. Against the dock, the Steel Turkey continued to bob gently under their gaze.