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Rita Ma      It started a couple of days ago. Whatever lurks in the depths of Secundus tended to stick to them, rarely an obstacle to the explorers and exploiters of the surface. Then that changed.

     Nameless creatures now come close enough to the surface to be seen as vast dark shapes, following ships as if to memorize their courses. At night, things with big reflective eyes- sometimes too many eyes, too close together- sometimes watch people on the shore, from way out beyond the breakers.

     These events have an epicenter, if one charts them on a map. That epicenter is just half a mile off shore, past the waves, where the rocks plunge off deep enough that one can comfortably park a ship. It is still and cold. There is absolutely nothing of consequence there.

     Or, rather, was. Whatever lurks beneath now, it must be of some importance.
Captain Flint      "How did Mr. Turk take it?"

     "About as well as could be expected," replies John Silver. Sunlight streams in through the window of the captain's cabin, as the ship gently creaks on its passage. The map is spread out over the table, and Flint is studying it. Secundus' waters are unfamiliar, but Flint is hardly unused to the role of explorer by now. Silver leans against his crutch. "But I don't think he'll be a problem."

     "These days he rarely is, despite all the bluster. I think he realizes, at last, how much our fortunes have changed since..." Flint chuckles. "Since the days before we were friends."

     "So you finally admit it."

     "Piss off," Flint laughs.

     "Have you found it?"

     "I have," says Flint, pushing a sextant aside. With his index, he points to several different spots on the map. "We've had sightings here, here, and here during the day. Accounting for the ones we saw on the shore, we can work out a radius--and from there, an epicenter. Not far from the shore, actually." He rolls up the map. "Bring this to Mr. DeGroot. Have him make the necessary adjustments, and see to it the men, Mr. Turk included, do not provoke these creatures."

     The sailing ship--an absurdly well armed square-rigger--makes good time on its way to the dropoff. Before noon, the ship is dropping anchor.
Rita Ma      Any concerns about how they might dive to reach the epicenter are soon allayed. It reaches them.

     It is fairly shallow here, but not shallow enough to see the bottom. Thus it's a surprise when something very big reveals itself, gradually becoming visible as a dark, indistinct shape beneath the gentle blue-green waves. On one side of the square-rigger, an enormous tail belonging to some silver-scaled sea-serpent emerges with a splash; on the other, its coils churn through the water as they surface, as if they were saws and it were wood.

     It is marked with slowly-healing gashes. None of them look old.

     Its head never becomes visible. Instead, one coil rises above the water in a loop, and standing on its apex is a humanoid figure. When the coil has risen to the level of the ship's deck, the girl perched on the beast steps onto it, abandoning her mount. It obediently slinks back into the depths.

     Seawater runs off of her in rivulets, but she doesn't look wet- not her hair, not her jacket, not her skirt. It's as if she were, somehow, waterproofed from head to toe.

     "I didn't think you'd try to find me," she says to the sailors broadly. Her expression and voice are sweet, demure. "This wasn't an accident, was it? You had something you wanted to say. Who should I be talking to?
Captain Flint      Flint descends the stairs of the quarterdeck, one hand on the railing. His black overcoat billows behind him as he crosses onto the maindeck, there to observe over the railing. The men abovedecks have fallen into a deathly silence. Only creaking of the ship and the beating of boots against stairs can be heard--a number of men come abovedecks, seeking a better view than could be had through a gunport.

     All of them, save the approaching captain and his quartermaster give Rita a wide berth. "I am called Flint, and this ship, the Walrus," says the captain. "That man is my quartermaster, John Silver."

     "I captain the ship," explains Flint, "He speaks for the crew." A murmur of assent spreads through the pirates. Though their clothes are as dated as Flint's, the captain, the quartermaster and the crew have among them a highly anachronistic spread of weapons. Some look like something Rita may only have seen in faded books. Others look like a walk down the street from what harpoonists (the fake ones) use.

     "It'd be impolite not to show interest," smiles Silver, "After all the interest you've shown us. You're really the one having them watch us?"

     "She's a witch," calls one of the pirates. There is a chorus swearing--not at Rita, but at this pirate.
Rita Ma      The blonde girl stands exactly where she is, hands folded neatly in front of her. Her eyes sweep across the gathered men, and their guns, with an undertone of discomfort. It isn't the guns that make her uncomfortable, though. It's the distance. She shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, knowing that trying to approach them could only make it worse.

     Her head turns to follow the two important-seeming men. As they approach, she puts on a little smile- relief that they aren't giving her a wide berth too, mixed with simple politeness- and gives them both a polite little bow from the head.

     "It's good to meet you, Mr. Silver, Captain Flint." A formal, rote greeting. Whatever she's speaking, a couple of words per sentence are close enough to English to slide through without needing the Understanding. Something about the introduction baffles her, though. Relaxing her formality, she asks Flint: "What do you speak for, then?"

     She returns Silver's smile as pluckily as she can, though there's still some residual discomfort. "Yes. In a few days, I wanted to approach you myself. But until then, having them watch you seemed like a better use than just letting them roam."

     Behind her, as if for emphasis, the water bubbles noisily.

     "She's a witch." That sends a flash of pain across Rita's face, subsumed back into her smooth demureness not quite quickly enough. It's not as bad as other things she's been called, but witches aren't normal, are they? They're weird outcasts, and nobody likes them. She casts her gaze off to the side, holding her arm uncomfortably.

     After a moment, she swallows her discomfort and looks back up at the two men. She gauges Flint's expression, but it's Silver her eyes finally settle on. "I want to know what the purpose of your work here is," she says with purposeful bravery. "Your end goal, and the means you intend to use to get there. That's something you can tell me, right?"
Captain Flint      Flint studies Rita for a moment--it's not an intense kind of study, and his own formal air isn't broken. "On ships like this one, the crew elects the captain. The captain decides where the ship goes; how best to guarantee a living for the crew. The quartermaster brings their concerns directly to the captain--if and when there's a need for anonymity. Even if Mr. Silver is their representative, I also speak with their authority."

     There doesn't seem to be any dissent among the crew there. Not even from the one who called Rita a witch.

     "Mr. Turk has a very particular set of beliefs," asides Silver quietly to her, one hand cupped over his mouth as he leans forward on his crutch. "But they're not generally representative of the rest of the crew. Like you heard."

     "My intention," Flint then continues, after Silver's aside, "Is to revitalize the town on that echo, to refire the forges of the fortress which lies beyond it, and to use that fortress as a staging ground for whatever else I may need, in pursuit of my 'end goal.'" He is perfectly calm, his seafoam eyes meeting hers without wavering.

     Flint glances over the railing of the ship, towards the shore of the echo a half mile away. "I would show the Multiverse that men may live freely and keep what is theirs, without the divine right of kings, and without the dalliances of merchant princes."
Rita Ma      Bright recognition flickers in Rita's eyes when Flint describes his role. She nods firmly, making her strangely-dry hair bounce a little as she does. "Oh! Like that. I'm familiar, Captain Flint. I was just a little confused, is all."

     Silver's quiet aside shifts Rita's neutral, tense demeanor towards something incrementally positive. She gives him a smile that doesn't need to contain quite as much bravery, and nods to him too, more gently. "Thank you, Mr. Silver. I'll try to remember that."

     Her evident moods seem to range from 'positive' to 'neutral'. One might gather that, if she were feeling ill, it would be difficult to tell how much so.

     When Flint glances past her, she turns her head to look back over her shoulder at the shore too. Evidently she's not quite comfortable enough to turn her back on the Walrus's crew, even still.

     "'The divine right of kings'," Rita repeats softly, still looking back at the land. "I've read a little bit about that. It's already over, where I'm from, but you mean the idea that..." She squeezes her eyes shut for just a moment, picking over her words carefully. "Whoever is in charge now, deserves to be in charge forever, because they're special."

     It's an academic idea for her, so there's no venom in her voice, but the way she phrases that shows she doesn't think much of the concept.

     Rita hops backwards gracefully to sit on the railing, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap. It helps her be a little less short than Flint and Silver. "Tell me about the 'dalliances of merchant princes', though. I think I understand, but I want to hear it from you."

     "And... the kind of society you want to build, that could show people that. How would you structure something free from those things?" That she's still curious is a positive sign. It means she hasn't heard anything she dislikes yet.
Captain Flint      "A succinct explanation for a ridiculous idea," Flint nods once at Rita. "Yes, you understand it." When she asks for an explanation about 'the dalliances of merchant princes,' his eyes seem quietly ablaze, despite his formal, reserved air.

     "I shall be very glad to, Ms..." He waits, patiently, for a name. "...If you've a way to keep them dry, I'll even lend you a book or two from my personal collection," he gestures, with a sweep of a sea-weathered hand, towards the door to the captain's cabin.

     "For the moment..." He breathes in, attempting to collect himself--but why? He doesn't seem particularly excited. "There is another ridiculous notion from which I would see the world divorced. The notion that one may make his fortunes off the backs of others, and keep the lion's share, simply because he thought of it first."

     His lip curls into a contemptuous sneer, his measured, gravelly baritone turning venomous. "That a man who has nothing deserves to have nothing, for lacking the means to rob his fellows. That men may speak of a God in heaven, yet ignore Him in favor of one on Earth. Money."

     "I want a society that isn't driven by the desire to exploit. One that does not, by its very existence, rob everything it touches of love, and warmth, and joy. We sail that we might have that future," he says, his chest heaving now, an quiet, electric energy overtaking the crew as they listen.

     "And we are close. We have made great strides--and if you care to see what we've built, and what we might yet accomplish, I invite you to come and see for yourself. New Providence island, the port town of Nassau."
Rita Ma      "Oh! I'm sorry. 'Rita Ma'," she says with an apologetic smile. "I guess I got caught up in things." His burning energy does seem to warm her; though she tries not to openly show it, for risk of steering him towards the right answers, there must be a mutual interest here. "I can keep books dry. I'd love to see whatever you want to share, Captain Flint!"

     She sits and listens receptively. Only at the end, when there's no more risk of him cold-reading her for what she wants to hear, does she beam with complete earnestness. Her hands relax, un-clasping, in her lap.

     "The idea that the wealthy made, and own, society. That they provide 'society' to the rest of us, when the truth is we provide it to each other, with them as middlemen. That society's purpose should be to make them richer forever, when it really ought to provide for people and help them live their lives. You know that this idea, this way of doing things, has to be torn down."

     She looks around at the crew. Just to confirm: "And you all agree with him on this?"

     "Then you really do understand. I wish I could invite you to my 'hometown', too; the place I helped build. But even if I can't return the favor, I'd love to see yours."

     A little pause. A little frown. "But I guess I should explain. I came here to see if this was the kind of thing you've been talking about. Something to make a king's territory bigger, or a rich person's wealth grow. Those things are my enemy, too. But, even though it's not... I might stay here a while."

     She tilts her head back towards the bubbling water, where the dark shape still lurks. "They'll stay out of your way, for as long as I do. Is that alright?"
Captain Flint      Does the crew feel the same way?

     "Yes," says a musclebound, blond-haired pirate with a saber at his hip and a shirt that likely does little against the cold air here. Most of these men look used to warmer waters, in fact.

     That pirate is joined by others, some loudly, excitedly, others solemnly. One, the only man here with a sword that isn't a machete or cutlass, doesn't even speak audibly, but his taciturn nod and the certainty in his eyes speaks loud enough.

     Rita proclaims a common enemy. The assent grows into something more spirited. There comes a stomping on the deck, at first slow and uneven. It spreads like wildfire through the crew, one pirate after the next, until every man on the ship, save the captain, is joined in this wordless, voiceless cheer.

     Eventually, it passes, the quiet of these still waters returning to fill the air, with the gentle creaking of the ship. "I think we can live with that," grins John Silver.

     Flint nods his agreement, corners of his mouth turning up in a small smile. "Quite. Please, join us in my cabin. In the mean time, Billy--fetch Randall. Have him portion out a serving of rum for the men." This elicits a wave a of cheers that can be heard well into the captain's cabin.

     Reflections from the water's surface dance across the ceiling, as sunlight streams in from a large window located behind a white desk with various 18th century navigational tools spread out across its surface. Beneath that window is a small bed. On one side of the cabin, there is a bookshelf with titles that span several centuries before and after the apparent time of Flint's world. Fiction, philosophy, history, and treatises on naval warfar line the shelves generously.

     A table on the opposite end of the cabin boasts another anachronism--a record player, with a robust collection to match it.

     Flint takes a seat behind the desk, Silver takes one of two opposite it, leaving one open seat for Rita.
Rita Ma      The wordless cheer at first leaves Rita startled and confused. It's a form of approval she's not used to receiving- more than likely, that she's never received in her life. But it is approval, and once she processes that, she's as happy to adorably bask in it as any other kind: her eyes are sweetly shut, her smile is cheerfully relieved, and she even makes a sunny little basking 'mmmm!' that's lost completely in the din of the crowd.

     Silver's joke makes that noise bubble over into a little girlish giggle. "I'm glad, Mr. Silver," she says. Rita's still a little too wrongfooted to be more eloquent, but at least she's happy about it.

     She drops down off the railing and follows dutifully to the cabin, giving the crew one more shy little smile-and-wave as she passes. She does feel a slight pang of anxiety: is this going to be the kind of situation where they'll say one thing in front of their men, and another thing in private? They don't seem like that type, but...

     Her worries, and her breath, leave her when she steps into the cabin. The first place she goes isn't the empty chair, but the bookshelf, reaching out with a hand to touch their spines and only stopping herself an inch short. "Ah... I've never seen so many all in one place," Rita murmurs softly. "... Well, no, that isn't true. But only once before. And in crates, not like this."

     She notices the empty chair belatedly and with a guilty start, prompting her to hurry over and sit in it. Only after doing so does she think to ask, glancing between Silver and Flint: "What did you want to talk about in here? If we're sitting down, it can't just be about the books, can it?"
Captain Flint      "Not just about books, no. I never did answer one of your questions," says Flint, reaching behind him to open up a heavy chest through sheer muscle memory. With a grunt, "The one about how we intend to establish that future of ours. It's something the men already know, and live every day."

     "Besides that, I thought you might appreciate the opportunity to talk, about books or our vision, without another forty sets of eyes on you in the cold winter air." Flint's hand finds what he's looking for. A bottle of rum and three pewter mugs are set upon the desk. "Do you drink?" he asks. There's no judgment for 'no'--and he'll just as happily pour two mugs as three. "We're men of fortune," Flint then explains.

     "Pirates," clarifies John Silver with that cat-that-ate-the-canary grin of his, as he tips his mug back. "The money from our prizes is split between the men and a special account we use to improve Nassau."

     Flint nods. "The men vote on how that account shall be used, towards that purpose, and when no clear consensus is present, the decision falls to myself and Mr. Silver. We've a school, something of a community center, and a place of refuge in times of danger. Electricity, clean drinking water. All of it financed by chasing prizes at sea, all of it available to every man, woman and child on the island, whether they make their living at sea or not."

     John Silver nods. "And after, what, two, three years of this?" Flint silently nods, but doesn't interject. "...We've improved conditions on Nassau more than England has in the entire time it's claimed to own the island."
Rita Ma      "Oh! Right. That question," she says, a tiny bit embarrassed she'd forgotten herself. The comment about the weather makes her smile ruefully: "I don't mind the prying eyes. But it is really cold out there. I'm... still getting used to it. It seems like you all are, too."

     "A little," Rita answers honestly when she's passed the pewter mug. "A friend's been helping me learn how to mix drinks! You know, like mimosas." Oh no. She eagerly takes a sip of the rum, and then instantly makes A Face, despite her very best attempts not to. "Th-thank you, Captain Flint," she struggles to say after swallowing.

     'Pirates' seems to trouble Rita. Despite their ideological alignment, the word means something different to her. She nods slowly along with the discussion of how the money's distributed- that seems to lift her spirits. She murmurs 'electricity' under her breath, in soft disbelief.

     "But it's dangerous work, isn't it? Are you working to set something up for... if you don't come back, one day? Do you think it could ever be self-sufficient, without a Walrus?"

     "And..." She pauses, pursing her lips. It's difficult to find the 'correct' way to ask this. "Who are you 'pirating' from, exactly? Or what? It's not other ordinary people, is it?"
Captain Flint      The Face draws a smile from Flint--and a strange, almost reminiscing kind of twinkle in his eye, before his gaze returns to his cup. "I think it is, partially. I think it could certainly be completely self sufficient without us. And I think we're closer to that than we've ever been. It's simply the case that one of our last obstacles is also the most onerous."

     "The landowners," says John Silver.

     Flint nods. "They control the farms on the island's interior. Many of them still believe they're English, still support English rule, and barely tolerate our presence, much less the strides we've made. They believe that we represent the end of civilization--and, after a fashion, they're right, I suppose."

     "For the moment, we must tolerate them, and they, us. Any overt action on our part, and one might send word to the governor and invite a reprisal from the crown we've only now mustered the strength to withstand."

     Flint gets up from the desk and procures a history book from the shelf, opening it to a bookmarked page. A two page spread; black and white, hand illustrated. A smoldering, disorganized heap of wreckage, strewn across sandy shores, as soldiers with flintlock rifles and cavalry sabers pick through and pillage. Apparently, Nassau has been razed several times.

     "But!" says the quartermaster. "That's going to change very soon. Maybe you could come and help us with that, in fact," he says, smiling coyly at her over the lip of his glass.

     As Flint refills his own, Silver continues. "As for who we steal from, merchantmen, primarily--but we did take a treasure hulk, once, with some help."

     "This bastard almost fucked us out of it," says Flint good-naturedly of Silver, who beams at Rita.

     "Unfortunately... 'ordinary people' are often crewing those ships," Silver admits. "And some captains will force them to fight us, even when we have a clear advantage--because many of the companies and concerns that send those ships out can decide to withhold pay if the crew gives up cargo without a fight."
Rita Ma      "Landowner" is a word that Rita briefly struggles to slot into her understanding of the world, mostly because of the 'land' part. Once she does, though, she nods sensibly. "Those people usually think 'civilization' means 'people like them being in charge'. Of course it's the end of that."

     "And you don't have enough control yet to just get rid of them all at once?" For how squeamish she'd sounded about piracy a moment earlier, that idea is one she suggests with a kind of comfortable almost-innocence. "Well, when you think it's smart to, I'd be happy to help, Captain Flint."

     Looking at the two-page spread, Rita's eyes open wide. A tiny half-gasp escapes her. "And that's... already happened? Or it hasn't yet?" The publication dates from 'the future' hadn't evaded her notice, it seems.

     The mention of merchantmen and treasure hulks does lift her spirits perceptibly, though. "Right. I forget that... in other places, ships are used for moving things from land to land, and not for living on. So piracy isn't just pillaging communities." She seems a tiny bit embarrassed to have to be reminded, but also relieved.

     "Yeah. 'Human shields'," she answers Silver, looking up with a resolved little frown. "It'd be nice if that were never true. But they put wealth before people's lives, so of course they'd do that. It doesn't mean you should stop. It means you should try to kill 'the monster' harder, doesn't it?"

     Rita breathes in, then breathes out. Her eyes shut for a moment. "I guess I should tell you a little about what I want, too. It's not fair otherwise."

     "Where I'm from, the whole world is underwater. There aren't many people left. Most of them live on ships- some of them the size of yours, or smaller. Other ones get to be big enough to have farms and cities on them. There's monsters everywhere, and repairs are hard, so more and more of them sink every year, and then they're gone forever."

     She's staring down at her hands in her lap as she talks, now. "... And even then, on boats that are rotting away, the rich people want to have as much of it as they can. They'll make people pay for fresh water just to keep them in debt. They'll throw away the apples they don't eat, and not even let the people below learn what they're called."

     She looks back up at Captain Flint, and smiles a brave, rueful little smile. "So we got rid of them, the rich people. I got rid of them. And suddenly everything was better, now that the workers could run their departments, and the workers' representatives could elect the captain, and there wasn't a middleman in the way of people helping each other."

     "So if it helped there, why not everywhere else, right? People pretend like we can't do it. The 'divine right of kings'. But we can."
Captain Flint      "1695 and 1703," answers Flint. The book corroborates. Once by the Spanish, a second time by the Spanish and French in tandem. "I came to Nassau in 1706, and it's presently 1718." Not only has it already happened, but in very recent memory for those fortunate enough to have lived through it. "This book tells of another, but not for another sixty years or so--and, of course, that presumes Unification hasn't wildly thrown our future into uncertainty."

     He closes it, then, listening quietly with Silver as Rita speaks of 'the monster.' The men share a glance.

     "It does mean that, yes," agrees Flint. Rita wants to share what she wants. With a nod of his head and an inviting sweep of his palm, the captain urges her to do just that.

     Waste. Greed. Systemic cruelty. Her story has him rise from his seat, staring out the stern window with his hands clasped behind his back in an imitation of control. But his fists clench, the more he hears, until, at the mention of hiding even the knowledge of better food from the lower classes, his knuckles burn white. He seethes--until five words are uttered.

     She got rid of them. He looks over his shoulder at her, all of the quiet rage reflected in that window gone. Relief, and immense respect, brim within those seafoam pools, as they meet her gaze. The tight-lipped scowl has left as well.

     "I do believe I'm in good company--and while we must return to our work before long, I'd be remiss if I let you leave here without a parting gift."

     The book is small, and could likely be read inside of a week, if she's persistent. The cover is unadorned, rough to the touch in a satisfying way. "These are the memoirs and musings of a man who came to similar conclusions as you and I, against all odds--born into wealth and influence, only to abandon both in pursuit of a kinder world. He was reviled for it, even imprisoned, at one point, but never lost hope."

     He pushes it towards her, as Silver watches. "I find that being able to touch the words of someone who has felt what I've felt, who has looked upon the beast called civilization in revulsion, just as I have, is a source of some small comfort. Perhaps it may be of use to you, as well, Ms. Ma."
Rita Ma      Rita smiles a shaky, brave smile at Captain Flint; she shrinks back in her seat, even though she really does look happy, and her hands clutch fistfuls of her skirt. That kind of approval is something she's certainly unused to. "Thanks, Mist- um, Captain Flint," she manages to murmur. "It's been really nice to meet everyone here, too. It helps with feeling less alone."

     "That's just one of the big ships, but... it's still something good, right? To make a community like that, that other people can look up to. That's why I really do want to come see Nassau."

     Rita takes the book in both hands, like she's reverently receiving some kind of artifact. She opens it to the first few pages, realizes how silly it is to start reading it there and then, and shuts it. Instead, after she fawns over the cover and familiarizes herself with its character a little more, it becomes 'mummified' in white strips as if they'd magically appeared. Lacking her satchel, she holds it close to her chest.

     "Thank you Captain Flint," she says, looking up at him with a smile. It's shaky again, but for a very different reason than before. "I'm lucky to be meeting wonderful people who feel this way, too, already. But if it was a comfort for you, then I'm sure it'll be a comfort for me. I don't have any books with you now, but... later I could bring you one of mine, from home?"

     She pushes herself up from her chair and very seriously offers Captain Flint a handshake, then does the same with Mr. Silver, rewarding them both with a pure look of sunny admiration in the process. "I won't always be down there, so... if you need to talk to me, I can give you my phone number? If you have electricity, you have those too, don't you?"

     When it's time for her to go, she leaves the cabin, climbs up on the ship's railing, gives all the crew one last cheery wave, and then gracefully hops off the side.