It was yet another clear day, with a largely cloudless blue sky overhead, and crystalline turquoise waters below. From early on, a speck of land was visible on the horizon, and as the morning went on, it drew closer and closer. At first, it looked to Marek like any other tropical island, but eventually he noticed an area of shimmering metallic haze. As midday approached, it drew further into clarity – a seaport, fashioned into the fastnesses of the rocky shoreline like a hulking limpet, hugged by the surrounding bright green foliage of the island. What had initially looked like a small outpost quickly resolved into an extensive arrangement of concrete and metal buildings, constituting a small city by any measure. A wall of high concrete ringed the city in a protective breakwater, with a central opening of a few hundred metres across providing the only access point. To each side of the entrance were what seemed to be watchtowers, fortified with colossal gun turrets. Dozens of naval and civilian boats trawled the surrounding ocean, and every few minutes aircraft shot past overhead in a roar of engine noise. As they sailed through the seawall’s entrance, Marek could see rows of docks ahead, jutting out into the water like long, flat fingers.
Marek’s eyes widened as they entered the port. Ahead of their small boat, a host of warships were anchored across the multitude of docks, seeming to occupy every berth, and blanketing the harbour in a floating city of looming grey steel and heavy weaponry. PT-109 seemed like a floating twig amongst the horde of metal monsters. He had thought that Gasoline City was large, but the Port Authority was on another level – and from what Beck had told him yesterday, this place was again dwarfed by the Naval Station at Pearl Harbour. Marek could only shake his head at the scale of it all.
It had been good to talk to Beck a bit more yesterday. She had still declined to reveal much about herself, but it was still nice to have someone more his own age to talk with. Keresi was friendly, but old enough to be his father. And the Captain was… still kind of strange and aloof. Maybe it was just a level of professional separation, him being the captain and all. Marek couldn’t be sure. All in all, though, he felt like he had chanced upon a good group of people. And even if he wasn’t going to fit in properly, he was determined to be useful.
There was no wasting of time once they docked. Marek didn’t know how there was any space left in the port to dock at, but Kennedy managed to find a spot at the far end of the harbourside to park his boat. After the flurry of rope-throwing that led to the ship’s successful mooring, Kennedy’s crew began to disembark, followed by Marek and the other dispossessed crew of the Iron Sparrow. Kennedy himself was the last to trudge onto the dock. “Seems like this is goodbye, Captain,” he said with a smile.
The Captain turned and regarded him. “We’re in your debt, Captain.”
Kennedy waved his hand dismissively. “Think nothing of it.” He looked over the top of his sunglasses. “But I may need to call in that debt some time.”
The Captain smiled. “Very well.”
“Farewell, then. And good luck!” Kennedy said through his eternally confident grin. “Until our next meeting,” he added, eyes once again hidden behind his sunglasses.
“Until our next meeting,” the Captain echoed, with a firm shake of Kennedy’s hand.
Marek watched as Kennedy and the crew of PT-109 filtered quickly away into the city. It was strange, but he felt a sense of sadness, despite only meeting them a few days ago. Perhaps it was just the weight of Kennedy’s lofty presence in his previous world.
“Alright, first things first,” the Captain said with a slight clap of his hands, after they had lost sight of their new friends. “Let’s go and get paid.”
The docks were ablaze with hurried activity as they walked, forcing the group to twist their way evasively along the paved roads and footpaths. Sailors were constantly skittering this way and that, pushing small sleds stacked precariously with assorted naval gun shells, crates of supplies, and other miscellany, while long lines of marines marched with stern rigidity towards destinations unknown. Offshore, ships were spasmodically thundering volleys off into the distance, in what must have been gunnery drills. It was all Marek could do to keep his head down and simply avoid knocking anyone over. He wasn’t sure where they were headed, but he just tried to stay on the heels of Beck and the others as they snaked their way through the sprawling networks of roads, with the Captain’s billowing white cape providing a bright waypoint ahead. Soon enough, they had turned down some quieter streets, and arrived at wherever they were meant to be. Ahead of Marek was a small nondescript building, which they promptly all walked into. A sign fixed overhead outside the building had said PRIVATEERING OFFICE.
“Good day,” remarked the Captain congenially, as he strode up to one of the counters inside.
“Good day, sir” came the swift reply. Sitting on the other side of the large window was a young woman, dressed in a navy-blue uniform, her dark blonde hair smartly tied back into a neat ponytail. There were several windowed counters inside the building’s main lobby area, like those found in a bank, though this was the only one currently staffed.
“We’re the crew of the Iron Sparrow,” the Captain continued, as he produced some documents and shifted them across the counter towards the woman. “We’ve come to collect for Assignment 00343-23.”
“Certainly,” replied the clerk, “let me check the records.” There was a long wait while she leafed through some kind of ledger. “Ah, yes.” She said finally. “Here we are. Assignment 00343-23. We received confirmation from Nauru on Saturday. I’ll just get your pay now.”
The woman disappeared for a few moments before returning with a bundle of money.
“Thank you.” The Captain said absently, thumbing through the currency before distributing Keresi and Beck’s share. “I’d like to take a look at the currently available assignments, please.”
The clerk looked surprised. “I’m sorry, sir – but the old scheme has been terminated. There’s a new directive, a new scheme now.”
The Captain’s tone was brusque. “A new scheme?”
“Yes - haven’t you heard? That strange fog that appeared last week – well apparently, it’s staying, and spreading. That’s what they’re saying, anyway.”
Marek felt his heart suddenly pound in his chest. He clenched his throat.
The Captain only arched an eyebrow. “And?”
“Well, the war’s ramping up now, and the Navy and Army certainly don’t want to divert any of their own resources. But they need routes through this fog, see – can’t have ships sailing around blind, getting ambushed. This is aside from the usual ongoing privateering needs - you know, supply runs and the like.”
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The Captain looked triumphant. “So, there is still privateering – let’s just keep doing that.”
“Well you can do, sir. But you’ll need to do it through this new framework they’ve set up.”
The Captain was looking increasingly annoyed again. “Fine. Tell us – what is this new scheme?”
“I’m not sure of all the details, sorry. You’ll need to head over to the new Expedition Office. I’m in the process of transferring there myself, you see. Just need to see off the tail end of the returning privateers first.”
“Alright, well, thanks for your time.” The Captain sounded done. “Where might we find the Expedition Office?”
“It shouldn’t be too difficult – do you know your way around here?”
The Captain nodded.
“Alright, well then just head back from here towards the civilian docks, and follow the main promenade all the way to the Silver Mermaid. Then at the intersection there, head inland until you see the old dynamite warehouse. The Expedition Office should be just near there, in the building where the Navigators’ Guild used to have their headquarters.”
“Simple enough. Thank you.” The Captain slapped his share of money on the counter absentmindedly, pocketed it, and then they all spun around and departed the Privateering Office.
Once again, the Captain seemed to know where to go, even though it all seemed like a jumble of grey building after grey building to Marek. He did spy one landmark as they wound their way towards the Expedition Office – the Silver Mermaid, which must have been a tavern of some kind. A round metal sign hanging off the roof outside offered a simplistic rendition of a silver mermaid, with the name of the establishment scrawled in cursive lettering underneath. When they eventually arrived at the Expedition Office, after what couldn’t have been more than ten minutes, Marek found himself standing in front of another nondescript building, although this one was admittedly a deal larger. Like the previous office, an unimaginative sign declaring EXPEDITION OFFICE in bold letters had been positioned over the entrance to the building.
“Well, here we go,” the Captain said with some unease, before they all marched inside.
“Good day,” remarked the Captain once he reached the counter, with a touch less congeniality than earlier.
“Good day to you, sir,” said the cheery clerk seated behind the window. He looked young, perhaps a few years older than Marek, and was entirely unremarkable in uniform and appearance.
The Captain drummed his fingers on the counter. “Can you tell us about this new scheme, whatever it is?”
“Of course! Are you interested in signing up?” the clerk behind the window asked. “There won’t be much stability, and next to no support. But!” the man’s finger shot upwards. “If you are good, the opportunities will be nearly limitless.” A slight pause. “And you’ll get a new ring.”
“Excellent,” the Captain replied acerbically, “but what is the new scheme?”
“Ah of course,” the clerk clucked, “I’m getting ahead of myself.” He took out a booklet. “The new scheme stems from the recent Port Authority Directive Number Nine, and sets out the framework for continued privateering operations in the Pacific, in light of the war effort and this new fog situation. Quite simply, civilians can continue to privateer within this new framework, or else they will be conscripted into working at factories, or undertaking other such menial roles in support of the war effort. As part of the new privateering framework, several ranks have been devised, in order to boost morale and increase productivity amongst privateers. You can read about them here.” He leaned forwards and pointed out the window at a poster fixed on the wall next to his booth.
They all gazed at the large poster depicting the ranking scheme. It was broken up into several larger sections designating various ‘Sectors’, with the individual ranks listed in smaller text beneath each. Marek carefully read through them, eyes flicking down through the ranks. Next to him, Keresi and Beck looked equally attentive, while the Captain had produced a pen and paper and began to transcribe the details.
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“Excuse me – but this poster only has the requirements up to Opal rank,” Marek said.
The clerk laughed. “Well, I can see nothing gets past you.” He leaned forward. “That’s because there won’t be anyone getting near those other ranks for a long while.”
“What the hell is EP?” Keresi growled, and the clerk shifted his attention to him.
“Oh, EP is shorthand for Expedition Points. You’ll accrue those as you complete expeditions, along with the other standard forms of compensation, and then use them to rank up.” The clerk frowned. “They really should have put that on the poster somewhere.” He clicked his tongue. “But, like usual, they just rushed it through.”
Keresi grunted.
Beck pointed at the poster. “And what exactly are Sectors?”
The clerk opened a booklet on the desk in front of him and flicked through it. “Sectors are simply ‘divisions of the ocean, defined areas, usually containing islands.’” He flipped the booklet closed. “It’s just how the Port Authority has divided the Pacific up, to make it more manageable.”
Beck nodded, but seemed uncertain. “Alright, so then how do ranks and Sectors tie together?” she asked.
“Well, you’ll be starting off at Bronze rank. Meaning, you can then undertake any expedition within Green Sectors.”
“Right,” said Beck, “and so then to do Blue Sectors we’d need to be at least Marble rank?”
“Correct.”
Marek had a thought. “Can we go through a Blue Sector without being Marble rank, in order to get to a Green Sector?”
The clerk flicked through the booklet again for a few moments. “Well, there’s nothing here that explicitly forbids it. Although below Marble Rank you couldn’t do anything worthwhile within the Blue Sector, in terms of gaining EP or other compensation, so it would be all risk for no reward.” He shrugged. “But physically, it’s the ocean. Unless you get stopped by someone, you can go anywhere. Based on what I know though, which isn’t much, I wouldn’t recommend it. Stick to the Green Sectors for now.”
Another thought popped into Marek’s head. “What were you saying about rings earlier?”
“Oh, it’s just a token physical representation of your rank, supplied by the Port Authority. You can see there on the poster all the different ones, it’s quite straightforward – a bronze ring for bronze rank, a silver ring for silver rank, and so on, all the way up to a red diamond ring.”
Marek wasn’t sure about the others, but ranking up and getting fancier rings sounded pretty damn appealing to him.
Keresi eyes glinted, but he shook his head. “This all seems very vague...” he leant forward to read the clerk’s desk name plate. “Petty Officer Third Class Albert Ford.”
Ford laughed. “You’re telling me. I only got briefed about this a couple of days ago.” He shook his head. “Those whitejackets at Pearl Harbour get all these crazy ideas in their head, and then we’re the ones who have to try and make sense of it. A week ago, we didn’t know about any of this, no one had thought of this, and now we’ve got civilians signing up wanting to know all the ins and outs.” He looked them over. “Do you just want me to give you a copy of the booklet?”
The Captain nodded sympathetically. “That would be excellent, Ford. We appreciate all your help.”
“Uh-huh.” Ford seemed unmoved, but retrieved another booklet and handed it over.
“Thank you.” the Captain said, then held up a finger. “Give us one moment.”
Ford smiled, somewhat disingenuously. “Take however long you need.”
The sun was now high in the sky, radiating down on the group as they stood on the bustling sidewalk outside the Expedition Office.
The Captain spoke first. “This is… frustrating.”
Keresi shrugged. “Yes, it is. But it’s really nothing much different than what we’ve already been doing, Captain. And to that point, we can’t even keep doing what we were doing even if we wanted to, now that this new system is in place.” He looked around at the rest of them. “I don’t know about all of you, but I would rather keep doing the closest thing possible to what we’ve been doing.” He pointed back towards the docks, and the ocean beyond. “My destiny is out there, not in some factory.”
The Captain nodded. “Yes, I’m of a similar mind. Beck?”
Beck nodded quickly as well, brushing her hair behind an ear. “I’m in.”
Then there was silence.
Eventually, Marek realised they were all waiting for his response.
“Oh,” he said with a start, “I uh – yeah, I agree too. I guess it sounds like business as usual, more or less – as far as what you were all doing before.”
The Captain and Keresi nodded.
“And… I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on one of these fancy rings they keep talking about,” Marek added with a smirk.
Keresi laughed and clapped him on the back. “Ha! Oh, I want one too, kid.”
The Captain gazed at each of them from beneath his large hat. “So, we’re all in agreement?”
They all nodded.
The Captain smiled. “Well, then. Let’s go get our new rings.”