Captain Reid

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"Looks better from outside."

He spun around. The voice was low, gruff and strained as though from shouting. It belonged to a man, as tall as Dec, but with twice the girth of hardened muscle to his frame. He was dressed in the same uniform as Rain, only he wore a blazer adorned with gold embellishments on the sleeves—four stripes and two diamonds, the captain's insignia. He had no guns. He didn't smile.

"My name's Angus Reid, Captain of the Cormorant. I believe it's time we talked. But if you'd prefer to do it with a view, I suggest you follow me."

He strode away, moving with the surety of a man who was used to people following him, or getting out of his way. Dec struggled to keep up and when his eyes weren't on his feet and the steep stainless steel chequered plate staircases between access platforms, they were on the Captain.

He noticed the Captain had dark hair speckled with grey, suggesting he was older than he looked. The thin strip of sunburn between his shirt collar and hairline meant he was important enough to have retained his rights to the sun. He had large, calloused hands, which had seen more than just paperwork and his gaze swept from left to right and back again, as though checking for invisible boats on the horizon.

As they moved through the passage, Dec caught a whiff of diesel fumes. But the higher they rose, diesel fumes gave way to salty brine and the pungent scent of seaweed and fish burley.

They burst into the open air and Dec had to close his eyes against the glare of sunlight. At first, in his blindness, all he could hear was the hollow echo of waves crashing on the shore, or sloshing against the hull of the ship. Seagulls squawked overhead and a jumble of voices rose all around, talking, laughing and shouting orders. Every now and again, a gruff voice rose above the raucous, giving command in a harsh guttural language which he assumed must be Northern. When he was able to open his eyes, his suspicions were confirmed. The port was swarming with Northerners. They bustled to and from the ship with a sense of duty, like ants swarming the entrance of a hole. Others, with moon faces like Rain's and cheeks red from sunburn, drove trucks between shipping containers. More Northerners sat atop large cranes, their dark, glossy hair hidden beneath bright orange hard-hats and almond eyes behind dark-tinted sunglasses.

If Dec hadn't been so entranced by the sunlight, he might've been disgusted. As it was, all he cold do was stare at the scintillating ocean, flecked with golden sun-sparks and the port which was a burst of primary-coloured shipping containers rising on bright orange cranes. Everything, including the water, was hazed with a fine coat of desert dust.

He gripped the railing to steady himself, tilted his face towards the sun and tried to absorb as much of the sun's rays as possible. He'd forgotten the beauty of the day, how vivid colour was, how the world seemed to come to life at the touch of light. He pressed his fingers to his eyes, to soothe the glare and was surprised to find they came away wet with tears. He wiped his hand on his jeans.

A Northerner the size of a small child pushed Dec aside with the pointy end of an electronic clipboard. She spoke to the Captain in rapid Northern, to which the Captain answered in equality rapid Northern. The Northerner nodded and shouted orders up at the crane operator next to the dock. The operator nodded and moved the crane into position over the ship.

"We'll unload and reload here," the Captain said. "Normally, we'd be dropping off Northerner new arrivals and taking container shipments back. But lately our re-settlement quotas have decreased significantly."

It took Dec a moment to realise the Captain was speaking to him. He looked up and caught the tail end of a frown on the Captain's stern and unsmiling face.

"If you're not a Northerner." Dec said. "Why do you speak their language?" His tone was accusing. Rain might've said the Captain belonged to the Southern navy, but that didn't mean he wasn't aligned with the North.

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