The Ship, The Old Man, The Tale

I was led into the Ship by the man named First Mate Parrot. (“You can call me First, Mate, or Parrot, your pick… and yes, that is the name on my driver’s license.”) Parrot, as his name implied, was McRaven’s second in command. Parrot had a tendency to squawk, an odd hobble to his walk, and the ability to stare down a mongoose at 50 meters. He was a great messenger and odd job man, had something of the art of command, but wasn’t as bright as his sense of humor was.

The Ship was an upscale downtown apartment with an extremely expensive lock. Inside it was crammed with computer displays, comm. devices, and people. The Captain loved the beautiful irony that the most infamous Pirate Crew in the Digital Seas was here in this room. Louisville is just about as far as you can get from the EST’s lovely Atlantic and Gulf coast lines, and yet still is a major US shipping port. The Captain was silhouetted by the setting sun to the east, his eyes transfixed on the apartment’s breathtaking view of the Ohio River a stone’s throw to the north. His hands were clasped behind his back and the way the shadows played across his haunches, the set of his body, and the view of water nearby all helped to give him that timeless look of a sea Captain examining the horizon for storms. It made you almost feel as if you were on the main deck of some great vessel, not some floor of a skyscraper.

As Parrot shut the door behind me, the Captain turned towards me, extended his hand in a firm handshake, “Welcome aboard, matey. This here is the Raven’s Eye. She sails ...