Night fell slowly among the islands, welcomed by the song of evening birds. Once they felt they had been safe long enough to let their guard down, Jacob had the ship and crew take refuge in a cove that served as a trading hub for illegal or ill-gotten gains. The crew of the Warbler and her new captain lamented their loss of potential cargo over grog and hardtack in the small shack that doubled as the cove's bar and latrines.
"How much do you reckon that ship wood was worth?" asked a downtrodden sailor, staring at his mug of grog pitifully.
"It'll still be there tomorrow, Ned," replied another sailor, currently using his portion of the table as a pillow.
"We made it out alive, gents!" Rathbone punctuated his retort with a slap of his hand against the table. "Stop complaining! And it was all thanks to Jacob. So tell us what you have in store next!" This sentiment seemed to grasp the attention and clear a bit of the cloud of depression that hung over the crew.
"Wait a minute…" one of the sailors said as the news started to settle in.
"Yes! That's right! Jacob," Rathbone was interrupted by a rough hand pressing a single finger to his lips.
"Hold up! Don't help him," A rather thick Irish accent, the owner of the finger, whispered to Rathbone. "Derth might get it on his own. Don't ruin it for him."
Several grunts of contemplation came from an adjacent table. Derth had placed a hand to his chin in the guise of deep thought. The pose quickly changed to one of intense mental pain, the sailor grabbing his head in both hands, rapping his head a few times against the table. With a gasp, the sailor leaped to his feet and exclaimed, "That means!" The crew leaned in with anticipation, only to be met with, "mermaids are real!" A collective groan made its way around the room.
"No, wait, that weren't it." The room fell silent again, anticipation floating in the air. "It were… Jacob's the new captain!" A cheer went up as the crew rushed the dullard for his realization. Every member of the crew rushed to congratulate Derth. They ruffled his hair, clapped him on the back, and a few sailors even congratulated Derth with tears in their eyes. Rathbone simply looked on in confusion. "You'd think Derth just became captain instead of you."
Jacob gave no response, choosing instead to gaze at the fading sun through the tavern-esque shack's window. His mind was replaying the narrow escape from just hours before, rolling the title of Captain Jacob around in his mind as well. There were going to be changes for the Warbler moving forward. No more coward's work, no more scurrying from island to island searching for scraps to just stay alive like some kind of bottom feeder. And by all that is holy, those cannons were going to roar. The cheering died down, but a pair of hands were still slowly clapping. All eyes turned to the prolonged celebration, and all wished they hadn't looked.
While the crew celebrated, the English man-of-war had cut off the cove, and her crew had spilled into its small bay in search of the one thing they were allowed to brutalize: pirates. The clapping stopped once all eyes had finally turned.
"Evening, gents," came the voice dripping with London swagger, "and if I'm not mistaken, it sounds as if congratulations are in order." The man commanding the attention of the room wore the hat and decorations of a notable officer, medals that spoke of excellence in the field of naval warfare hung with pride from his coat. He was flanked on either side by a small group of his sailors, each armed with flintlock rifles and malicious, hungry grins.
"Who is the captain of that fine pile of scrap firewood in the bay?" Before the crew could react or retort to the insult to their terrible ship, there was a chorus of cannon fire and the sound of splintering wood.
"Well, that's not really of any importance, now is it? Still, if the captain of this crew were to surrender himself, it would be ever so kind, and I dare say would also spare their crew such an awful and uncomfortable fate."
Jacob stood from his seat and met the gaze of the officer, Rathbone pulling on his sleeve trying to make him change his mind.
"Ah, there you are!" said the officer. He walked casually over to Jacob, several sailors following behind him with rifles at the ready. "Thank you for sparing your crew from such an unwelcome travesty. Now they won't have to see you die first." In a flash of musket fire, the crew of the Warbler and all other patrons of the small establishment were dispatched to a man. Jacob drew his cutlass and swung it with all his might at the officer, only to eat the butt of a rifle and succumb to unconsciousness before it could make contact.
Jacob awoke on board the man-of-war to the rhythmic hammering of what sounded like construction. He turned with a swollen eye toward the sound. Each and every member of the Warbler was hanging side by side from the rafters of the shack, with a remaining few still being nailed into place. A plaque was hung on every dead body, the cord that held them having been threaded through the bottom jaw to ensure that when the flesh had been picked clean, the plaques would remain. They had the words "filthy pirate" written on them in French, Spanish, and English, to make sure they could be understood when they were found.
"Captain," a gruff voice called out, "he's awake." Jacob turned to locate the voice of his jailers and felt a rough cord around his neck and wrists, and iron shackles around his ankles.
"Good, let's get on with it then." A pair of sailors with rough hands scooped Jacob from his location on the deck and shoved him against the port side railing. He was turned by those rough hands again to face the officer he had met in the shack, who stood among a crew with dark and hungry anticipation on their faces.
"Captain of the Warbler." The officer paused and motioned to Jacob to speak.
"Jacob Windsleth."
"Captain Jacob Windsleth. For acts of thievery, assault of a vessel of Her Majesty's Royal Navy, piracy, and the trading in and possession of stolen goods, you are hereby sentenced by Captain Reed Bartholomew Richardson the Third of Her Royal Majesty's ship the Fairweather, to be hanged from the neck until you are dead. Have you any last words before your sentence is carried out?"
"I have," Jacob said, spitting out a mouthful of blood onto the well-kept deck under his feet. "If it weren't for Her Majesty and her ilk destroying the ways an honest man could make an honest living, we wouldn't need to steal. When I die, I can only hope that in hell, I will be sailing again. That when I'm sailing through or across the fires and pits of hell, that we meet again. And that, when we meet again, I have enough rope and weights so I can hang you in kind."
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"With your last words spoken, we shall now carry out your sentence, may God have mercy on your soul." With that, the officer waved his saber, and the weight that was chained to Jacob's feet was tossed over the side. The momentum of the weight and chain took his feet out from underneath him and pulled Jacob over the side. He saw the sky and ocean one last time before the length of rope around his neck went tight with a crack, welcoming him into a realm of total darkness.
It was cold at first. Maybe cold wasn’t the right word. There was no temperature or feeling of any kind for Jacob, except for the kind of weightlessness that one felt while swimming. Jacob wasn’t sure if his eyes were open or shut, if he was drifting in any certain direction, or why what was happening wasn’t like what the preachers talked about. Then, in the distance, a single point of light appeared. Small at first, but growing in brightness and size. It wasn’t like the bright light of the sun that would hurt your eyes, nor the dull light from the flame of a candle, but it was light all the same. As it grew closer, or bigger, Jacob could hear the light calling of angelic singing, then a voice called out to him. He wondered if it was what his father would have sounded like when he was young; it had a comforting appeal to it.
“Jacob. Hear me, Jacob. Go to the light,” the voice said with a matter of fact tone. “Go and be at peace. Wonder awaits you there, bliss among the angels and the presence of the Lord. Freedom from…” the voice seemed to trail off as if distracted by something. “Free, freedom from.. What is that noise?” A low humming began to sound from all around Jacob, drowning out the angels and even Jacob’s own thoughts. It was a deep rumbling hum that was equal parts malevolent and deafening.
“What in the name of God is that thing?!” the voice shouted. There came the sound of a long and loud tearing of fabric that seemed to drive the hum into a pulsing, hammering beat. A large metallic shape pierced the void between Jacob and the ball of light, draped in the tatters of the cloth-like void that it had pierced. It was enormous, and it left Jacob in awe. He could feel something now, beyond the weightless drifting was the sensation of being pulled, hard and fast like a fish on a line being brought ashore. It was the behemoth, the large metal thing was pulling him from the path to his promised heaven, and Jacob, though he tried to swim away from it, could not fight its powerful draw. In a brief moment, Jacob was drawn to the reflective surface of the craft and made contact with the metal titan. The sensation Jacob felt wasn’t concrete like a texture or a temperature the metallic behemoth felt, scared and desperate. Once the two had touched, they blinked out of existence in the empty space outside of time.
The male voice called out once more into the void, sounding much less certain and comforting,
“Uhmm. Right, well, don’t tell Saint Peter about this one, okay? What? Uhm, just, just tell him he hasn’t shown up yet, okay? Why? Alright, he hasn’t shown up yet because, uh, because I wrote the date wrong. Well, smudge it with an eraser! I know you can’t erase ink, that’s why I said to smudge it!”
Lights. Thousands upon thousands of lights stretched out to a horizon that seemed just beyond the verge of Jacob's vision. A new voice came from the lights, it coughed and wheezed like a dying woman, then simply screamed in pain. The lights around Jacob swirled and danced until they formed a figure lying on its side, clutching something small tightly in her hands, her battered body curled into the fetal position.
“Please, I don’t have time,” the woman made of light begged, her voice trembling with pain. “Please, you have to save them!”
Jacob, bewildered by the spectacle before him, tried to make sense of the situation. "Save who? What is all this?"
"Please just say you will save them!" The woman's voice broke into sobs as she pleaded desperately. "You must save them! I can’t! I just can’t! Please! You can help me, you must help me!"
Realizing the urgency of the situation, Jacob stepped closer to the sobbing woman, his voice filled with compassion. "Alright, alright, I’ll save them. I’ll save them. It’s going to be alright." He placed a reassuring hand on her arm and offered her a gentle smile, attempting to bring her some comfort. "What’s your name, love?"
Tears streaming down her face, the woman replied with a touch of sorrow in her voice. "We don’t have names. We don’t get names. They do. There are so many names. Precious, all of them. So precious to us all. That’s why we came to you." She gasped for breath between her words and sat up, meeting Jacob's gaze. She extended her tightly balled hands, offering them to him. “We can’t do what needs to be done. It wasn’t made into us, any of us. They made sure we couldn’t, for themselves. But you can. They’re so precious, too precious to us.”
Eager to help, Jacob cupped his hands beneath hers, ready to receive whatever she held. Slowly, the woman opened her hands, allowing a cascade of tiny dots of light to drift into Jacob's waiting palms. The lights settled in a small pile, resembling the bottom of an hourglass, and began to arrange themselves into a delicate shape. It was a miniature replica of the metallic monster that had halted Jacob's ascent to heaven.
As the woman made of light started to break apart, her voice flickering like static, she spoke her last words. "Thank you. Take care of Feather Fall."
Overwhelmed by the weight of her request, Jacob nodded solemnly. "I will. I promise. Feather Fall will be safe."
With her light gradually fading, the wounded angelic being dissolved into thousands of points of light, leaving behind a lingering sense of awe and sorrow. Jacob cradled the small replica of the metallic monster, "Feather Fall," in his hands, understanding the importance of the task he had been entrusted with. Determined to honor the angel's sacrifice, he held onto the precious symbol, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
As Jacob examined the tiny creation in his hands, he couldn't help but marvel at its intricacy. What was once a mere replica now seemed to possess a magnitude far beyond its size. In an act of curiosity, he raised his hands closer, bringing the miniature monument into focus. Yet, to his bewilderment, a sudden sensation enveloped him. It was as if he were being drawn into the very essence of this diminutive figure.
Time warped and twisted as Jacob felt himself pulled, a sensation akin to an endless descent. It was an inexplicable force, as if gravity and time had become a malleable concept, stretching seconds into hours. In this surreal interlude, he experienced disorientation and dislocation, until, abruptly, the journey ceased. It was as if he had collided face-first with an impenetrable wall, leaving him to instinctively rub his aching head and face.
Opening his eyes, Jacob found himself confronted by the towering metallic behemoth that loomed before him in all its grandeur. The vessel, now fully materialized, radiated a sense of power and majesty that filled the space around him. Stretching across the vastness of space, the starship extended for an impressive length of 240 feet, spanning the breadth of 72 feet and soaring to a height of 48 feet. The ship's rectangular form exuded a sense of purposeful elegance, its sleek lines and harmonious proportions embodying a balance of form and function. Its grandeur was enhanced by two expansive decks, each awaiting the unfolding of extraterrestrial wonders and the pursuit of knowledge. Jacob's eyes are drawn to the twin nacelles, positioned symmetrically on either side of the starship. These curving appendages, shimmering with a gentle luminosity, serve as the conduits of power and propulsion, propelling the vessel through the vast cosmic currents. Within their ethereal glow lies the pulsating heart of the starship, a symphony of advanced systems and technological marvels yearning to be awakened by skilled alien hands. As he attempted to move toward it, an unseen force, once hidden but now more prominent, impeded his progress. It was like an impenetrable barrier, an opaque windowpane separating him from the colossal starship.
Undeterred, Jacob extended both hands, feeling the smooth, unyielding surface of the barrier. His touch triggered a cascade of shifting lights, as blue and green squares flickered and danced beneath his fingertips. Suddenly, the hues transformed into a vibrant purple, and a resounding voice reverberated within his mind, piercing through his consciousness.
"Access denied. Password required," the voice echoed with precision, a feminine timbre reminiscent of the woman who had pleaded for help earlier.
“A what?” Jacob asked, his voice mixed with confusion and the mild frustration of a child being denied a new treasure.
“Access de…” Cut off mid response, the voice was silenced, the wall disappeared, and the feeling of perception altering endless falling began anew. There was enormous pounding pressure after a time, Jacob felt like a load of gunpowder being rammed into a cannon, the pressure striking down on him again and again. The last strike from the hammering pressure gave way to a massive feeling of release, then Jacob was in total darkness once again. Jacob was able to feel before he was able to see or hear in this new place. Something about this place, about himself, felt wrong. It was hard to find the right words to describe the sensation, and the ones that fit sounded just as wrong as he felt. To put it simply, Jacob felt like he was quite literally full of holes and something large and unfriendly was actively drilling and cutting into his hull.
"Wait," Jacob said to the surrounding darkness, "my hull?"
Slowly Jacob’s world changed from darkness to a dizzying array of sights, sounds, and feelings. Knowledge began to intrude into and fill his mind, knowledge about where he was, what was happening, who was on board, and most importantly that he was now the artificial intelligence in charge of maintaining and organizing all the systems and subsystems for the starship named Feather Fall.
“So this is what she meant by help.” Jacob said as he began to take stock of his situation properly. He went down a checklist for matters of importance rapidly, checking off each item mentally as he went.
Damaged parts? Everything but the cargo hold.
Life support systems? Still functioning, but not by much.
Fires in section two, five and in the living quarters.
Cannons? No cannons. Well that’s just stupid, what kind of a ship doesn’t have cannons? Hostile forces in the forward quadrant of section four and spreading out towards sections one and three.
Crew? No life signs from the crew, oh, that’s not good. Any life signs at all beyond the Hostiles? Just one? Well, welcome to the crew, um, what’s this then? Alien lifeform experiment 202? Yeah, I’m not calling you that.