The Mariner

The journey to the Beagle had only taken a few days, and they spotted it on the horizon long before they neared. The ferry straddled the ocean like a beetle on dung, a small island in its own right, but the sheer size of it suggested inherent difficulties.

“How do you dock?”

Harris tilted his head, non-committed. “We’ve never really had to. The scout ships bring back supplies, the Beagle acts as a base of operations, a place to conduct research, tests and trials.”

“Trials?”

“Of the Anomenemies.”

“You put zombies on trial?” Cedrick’s eyes opened in alarm and clutched at his wound, healed despite his certainty that it would infect and prove fatal.

“If we’re lucky, you might get to see one.”

As they neared, two small ships, a more common size (unlike the hefty Neptune and gargantuan Beagle), bounced across the waves. Their motors roared defensively as they put a barrier between the strangers and their mother Beagle. Loud megaphones dictated how the greetings were to play out: the Neptune would await a small collection of scouts who would board and inspect the crew and cargo, before bringing them to the Beagle for interviews.

Harris nodded encouragingly. All standard procedure, though the Mariner was less than impressed, anxious about the incursion.

“Your friends seemed to have brought guns,” he growled at Harris, before turning to the rest of his passengers milling on-deck. “I want you all to hide until this is straightened out. This could get unpleasant.”

“Woah! Woah there!” Harris stepped in front of the Mariner, waving his hands. “It’s how we always treat the unauthorised. As soon as they see me aboard, we’ll be allowed to approach, no problem. Just… chill out!”

Remaining stoic against Harris’ platitudes, he kept a hand on his holstered Mauser.

“And don’t touch that thing, or we might all get killed!”

Five men wearing different attire, though acting as a well-trained unit, climbed up the rope ladder and gathered on deck, each one pointing a handgun at the motley crew.

“Identify yourselves immediately,” said one appearing to be in charge.

“Barnett, it’s me!” Harris nodded enthusiastically. “You can stand down.”

“Captain Harris?” Barnett was shocked, but didn’t lower his weapon, instead he glowered at the Neptune’s crew. “But this isn’t the Kraken. Who are these people? What happened to your command?”

“We were overcome by Anomenemies. I was forced to abandon the Kraken and commandeer this vessel instead. This is Captain Arthur Philip of the Neptune, and these are his people. They seek our protection.”

“What’s that?!” Barnett suddenly swooped his gun low to point at the ground. His lackeys did likewise, some dropping to their knees to facilitate their aim.

“It’s an Anomenemy, sir!”

“Permission to shoot?”

“No it’s not!” Grace yelled. “His name’s Percy!” With a defiance she stepped in front of the tazzy devil, who, like a deer caught in headlights, halted under the glare of attention and nervously farted.

“What manner of creature is it?”

“It’s a Tasmanian Devil you idiot.” McConnell shook his head, irritated.

Barnett swung his attention from beast to reverend, a scowl across his wide thuggish brow. “We have to be careful out here. We are fighting for the very future of the human race. If an Anomenemy made it past our defences, all could be lost. We’re trying to save the fucking world.”

“It’s true, I promise,” said Harris. “Wait until you meet Mavis, then you’ll understand.”

Barnett studied each of the passengers, running every suspect though some internal test, the parameters known only to him.

“How long have you known these people, captain?”

“Just a couple of days, but they’re fine. I can vouch for them.”

“Very well, drop anchor here, you will not be permitted to approach the fleet any further. We shall take you to the Beagle via the speedboat. No weapons. No dogs. Understand?”

All agreed, some more reluctantly than others. McConnell and the Mariner proved the most suspicious, though raging hunger drove them to submission.

“Very well,” the Mariner relented, starving and powerless to refuse.

Their approach to the Beagle was one of shadow and awe. The mighty ship loomed above, blotting out all sunlight, and suddenly the sea spray took a chill quality. There was no direct access to the Beagle from the sea surface, instead the crew of the Neptune were forced to board a satellite ship, a converted fishing trawler, and then cross onto the Beagle via a temporary gangway, watched the whole time by suspicious gun barrels and makeshift pikes.

“Not quite the welcome you lead us to believe,” the Mariner spoke with a tone brimming with threat.

“It’s all just show, don’t worry,” Harris once again tried to placate his guests “It’s all routine. If it makes them feel safer, why not? No-one’s going to get harmed.”