"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.

"One can hardly transport Northerners without learning their language," the Captain answered. "And I refuse to rely on my translator for more than the limitations of my own language ability."

"You don't trust her?" Dec said.

"Trust is for fools."

"You were the one who wrote that note?" Dec asked. "About heroes and fools?"

The Captain jerked his head in a nod. "The one you had trouble burning. I hear you have a knack for getting yourself in trouble."

"What's it to you?"

The Captain turned his gaze on the horizon and his eyes resumed their side-to-side sweep. In his stillness, he seemed to become a part of the boat, with eyes only for the dip of the swell, and nose pointed skywards, scenting for any further trace of a storm on the sea brine. Then, he said, "I knew your mother once. I've been keeping an eye on you since she's been sick. As a favour of sorts. Who do you think slipped those application papers for your job at Overlands Trading under your garage door last year? Overlands is one of our major warehousing and logistics companies. I worked some contacts to get you that job."

Dec's stomach twisted. The application form had appeared like some sort of a request receipt, and he'd never thought of it as anything more than a very lucky coincidence. "You knew my mother?"

The Captain didn't answer. Instead, he continued, "My assistant tells me you were invited to join the NYR, and that you declined."

"I don't trust them."

"And yet you're willing to smash up security cameras for no real reason but to cause trouble?"

Dec shot the Captain a glare. "If I remember correctly, it was your assistant that told me not to trust them."

"Need I remind you that my assistant is a Northerner. Northerner's are naturally suspicious of Nocturnal rights groups. I'm sure you can imagine why. Rain has displayed poor judgement. She was never supposed to reveal herself to you, nor was she supposed to bring you here. She has disobeyed orders, and will be punished accordingly. As for you, you're going to join the NYR," the Captain said. "You've got no job. Your mother is sick. Your sister needs you. The NYR has the power and money to protect you if, say, I'm no longer able."

Dec crossed his arms over his chest to resist the urge to walk away. The Captain knew everything about him. Everything that was important, that is. And if he wanted to, he could use any of that information for unknown means. He'd seen it happen in movies – blackmail, identity theft, conspiracy. "And if I refuse to join?"

The Captain pursed his lips. "I'll pull my lawyer's support. You'll be behind bars within the hour. Jail might be the safest place for you in that case."

"Is that a threat?" Dec said.

"No," the Captain said. "It's a choice."

"Who do you think you are?" Dec said, anger rising.

Once again, the Captain didn't answer. His eyes resumed their sweeping and a sudden chill rose in Dec's chest and spread throughout his body, despite the heat of the mid-morning sun. In the Captain's silence, the strange voice intruded once more. A whisper, soft at first, like the sound of waves sloshing against the bow. Then, from it, rose words, soft on the s' like a hiss of spray.

Smarten up, son.

This time, he didn't fight the voice. Just allowed it to intrude, welcomed it even, and then searched the ensuing silence for more.

But that was all this time. Three words, four syllables, reminding him of the note he'd received from the lawyer, and what he'd thought was a rhetorical sign-off.

Son.

A feeling like a rising swell had gripped the deck beneath his feet and started rocking him from side to side, threatened to tip him over. Perhaps it was the Captain's evasive gaze, or the silence beyond his question that confirmed his dread. Or perhaps it was the Captain's words that came back to him then, I knew your mother once. Whatever it was, he had to grip the railing to steady himself.

It couldn't be. It wasn't possible. The man standing in front of him could be anyone from his mother's past. Anyone that cared for him, for their family, for his mother. But who would go to the extreme of finding him a job, hiring someone to keep and eye on him, while keeping his identity unknown?

He stared at the Captain and noticed for the first time how similar in height they were. They stood nose for nose, steel-grey eyes for steel-grey eyes and if he ignored the Captain's sun-weathered skin and the coarse bunch of his muscles, they could almost be ... "Who are you?" he said, voice cracking.

The Captain took a long torturous moment before answering. "I think you already know the answer to that question."

Dec's gut wrenched as though he'd tripped and fallen from a height. The Captain remained impassive, as though nothing unusual had passed between them. "My assistant will not follow you any longer. We have terminated our agreement. And since I no longer require her services as a translator, she will return to the North. As for you," he held out a hand. In it was the palm pod Dec had discarded under the bridge. Dec took it numbly and slipped it on. "You will call Lazar and tell him you'd like to join the NYR," the Captain said. "My lawyer will accompany you back to your house."

Out of nowhere, Dirk Regulski appeared and held out a stone cut hand to which the Captain shook firmly. They exchanged muttered words before Dirk lifted his head to Dec. "Follow me," he said.

Dec turned to the Captain, but found he'd already left his place and begun descending the stairs below deck. He watched him go until the peak of his captain's hat had passed out of sight.

"You coming?" Dirk said.

Dec nodded and with the effort of sheer will, forced one foot in front of the other, down the wide gangplank and onto the jetty. Around him, the seagulls continued to squawk, the Northerner's continued to shout orders, and the waves continued to lap at the shoreline as though the world as Dec knew it hadn't just been thrown off it's axis.

Dazed, he hauled himself inside Dirk's monster four wheel drive as it rumbled to life. Dirk swung the vehicle into a sharp U-turn, crunching gravel and pluming dust in their wake. As the dust settled, Dec caught a glimpse of a shadow slipping between shipping containers in the revision mirror. A day ago he would've dismissed it as a trick of the light. Now, he knew better.

As they took the first bend in the freeway towards Atunda, Rain stepped out from behind the container to watch them go. She wore her usual black jeans, black t-shirt and her long black hair was pulled into a ponytail. Her body flickered like a mirage in the hot sun.