At the very moment Captain Cait Molyneux arrived at Pier 19, she knew she had a problem. She sat motionless in the passenger seat of her little delivery van, the one Xiphos called ‘the Dinghy,’ while the rest of the docks pulsed around her. The Kingdom of Lat’s busiest port, New Haven was one of the great connections between the Northern and Southern hemispheres. Palm trees peeked over the tops of warehouses, framed in the struts of cargo cranes, standing watch on the shore. Sea gulls teetered in the wind, and rested on the dormant floodlights that lined the docks. Waiting at the end of the pier was a man, and a boy in handcuffs. The boy was Cait’s problem.
The wonderful thing was, the boy didn’t even know he was part of Cait’s new problem. Cait didn’t blame the boy; it wasn’t his fault, or likely wasn’t his fault. And it wasn’t because Cait was feeling particularly charitable at the moment; it was safe to say Cait had no reason to believe any particular thing about the boy, except that he was the new problem. Cait’s new problem was that all of her old problems were suddenly very quaint. But the boy being at the end of the pier was just a small part of it. She could leave him, she realized, and this new problem would go away. She could simply order Tre to turn the Dinghy around, and that would be it.
Except, she couldn’t.
Tre nudged Cait back to the pier. Cait blinked, and looked up at him. Tre filled out the driver’s seat more than had ever been intended. He held the steering wheel like a little old lady holding her handbag while waiting for a bus. Tre was lion, which made him naturally big, but even Tre stood a little taller than most, which allowed him to intimidate even the biggest bullies. Of course, most people had never seen Tre sneak off in ports to feed the birds. He looked over — down — at Cait, who still stared out the windscreen of the Dinghy, and then back out at the boy.
“We are at the wrong pier,” Cait said.
Tre nodded.
Cait shook her head. “Tre, I need your help.” She stepped out of the van, shoulders back, and strode up to the escort, pushing herself forward like a woman on a mission, and he was wasting her time. Tre followed, and Cait could feel him looming behind her. She was sure now Tre looked like a contained tsunami. It was exactly what the escort needed to see.
The man, large, intimidating human, head shaven, handed Cait an envelope with the boy’s papers and the key for the cuffs, and pushed the boy forward. Tre grabbed the boy by his handcuffs and pulled him into the van, making a show of flinging open the back door and pushing the boy in. Cait scanned the papers, sniffed at the human and, already bored with him, left him alone on the pier.
Tre steered the van off the pier as soon as Cait got in. When they were a good half a mile away, Cait climbed into the back of the van. She took the boy’s handcuffs and unlocked them. They boy said nothing, pushing himself into the corner, rubbing his wrists. At a quick glance, the boy could have been mistaken for 12 or 13, but his papers said he was 15. Everything about him screamed ‘Colony Boy’: he had his dirty-brown head-fur combed down in front of his eyes, parted at one side and moving towards the other. Whatever product he had put in it was starting to lose its grip, and his head-fur had begun to fall in front of his face. His clothes were stylish, dressy for the Colony, but sloppy for most other countries, and they waved a giant flag that said, ‘Continental.’ Everything Cait knew about the Colony said he was a spoiled brat, which was probably why he had found her way into her care.
“I do not know where you were told you were going, or if you had been told anything at all,” Cait said, folding her hands in her lap. She spoke with a soft, assured Doric Highlands accent, tempered by a woman who had been educated at the Academy in Archertown, and the Civilian Naval Academy in Anchorhead. Cait was red panda, and her accent ran entirely at odds against the Beiish or Linian most people expected to hear from her. Hers was an accent heavy with the weight of books, and sometimes Cait liked to drop her accent on people when she needed. She definitely felt the boy needed to hear it. The boy had no doubt noticed the blue and white Confederation of Ocean States patch on her coat, that he was now a Continental in the hands of an Islander. He needed to hear civility.
The boy stared ahead, tired and glossed over. He pulled his knees up to his chest.
“The papers your escort gave me said you are to be sent to the Goodship Firebrand.”
The boy shuddered. A tear began to well up into his eye.
“It is not my intention to take you there. You are going to stay with me, understand?”
And the boy gave her back nothing.
“I know things look bad now, but you can trust us, myself and my crew. We will make sure you stay safe.”
The tear ran down the boy’s cheek. Cait sighed and patted the boy on his head. He flinched. Cait pulled her hand back. She leaned against the wall of the Dinghy, letting the weight of her actions bear down on her. After a moment, she pulled the radio from the front. “Cait to Billy.”
“Go ahead, Cait,” came Billy’s voice.
“Figure out the pier on which we were supposed to meet. Go pick up the package waiting for us there. Sound the departure bell. I want to leave as soon as possible.”
Billy clicked back his response.
Cait looked down at the boy. He rested his head on his knees and rocked back and forth just slightly. He may not have believed her, but if the Firebrand was what Cait thought it was, she had just saved his life.
Cait longed for old problems.
[g]
Intriguing beginning.
Small typo: you wrote “envelop” instead of envelope.
Balls. Thanks for the catch! I can never seem to catch all of them… =(