A Fortuitous Encounter

George leaned heavily on the railing, his gaze fixed on the vast expanse of water stretching before him. The ocean glittered faintly as the sun tried to pierce through a thin veil of morning haze. The view truly was remarkable—a panorama that could inspire awe on any other day. But today, the tumult of emotions swirling within George rendered him impervious to its beauty. His mind churned, insulated from any sense of wonder.

Below, the main deck was coming alive with activity. People wandered about leisurely, their movements unhurried as they basked in the warmth of the day. Laughter floated up from the pool area, where children splashed, and couples lounged in carefree bliss. George’s eyes were drawn to one couple standing together at the railing, not far from his position. They stood close, their heads bent toward each other as they chatted and exchanged affectionate touches. A sharp pang surged through George’s chest, and tears welled in his eyes. He blinked them away, but the ache persisted. Was this really happening? Was Ruth really going to leave him? The very thought felt surreal, inconceivable after the joy they’d shared during their anniversary celebration. The cruelty of the situation twisted within him, igniting a flicker of anger. It almost felt as if someone, somewhere, was orchestrating his suffering—a sadistic hand at work, reveling in his pain and heartache. The sharp contrast between the sensations he had felt at the gathering the other night and the agony now gripping his soul gnawed at him. It felt incongruous, like a betrayal. Who, or what, with supposed good intentions, could be behind such torment?

“What a crock!” George erupted, his voice tearing through the air. His anger bubbled over, unrestrained. Throwing his head back, he screamed into the sky, his voice raw and strained. “What’s wrong with you? Why would you do this?”

His hands tightened on the railing until his knuckles turned white. Out of the corner of his eye, George caught sight of the young couple glancing in his direction. Their faces registered a mixture of curiosity and unease. Embarrassment flushed through him. Swallowing hard, he took a tentative step toward them, intending to explain, but their reaction came quickly—they turned and made their way nervously to the stairway. George halted, sighing heavily. “They wouldn’t understand anyway,” he muttered under his breath.

Just then, George’s mind snagged on something—words spoken by Gloria during the meeting. They came unbidden, rising to the surface of his thoughts. The Dark Ones. They pervade our lives and influence our thinking, decisions and choices. What they plant in us can be difficult to uproot. Why now? Why had those words surfaced? George’s brow furrowed as he turned the phrase over in his mind. Then another memory emerged—Gloria’s voice again, speaking of the Asteria. They are agents acting against the Dark Ones to afford us the opportunity to know the truth and choose it for ourselves. A great battle is waged unseen all around us. Day and night, it rages unbeknownst to us. It ebbs and flows, and we are subject to its effects. It’s a battle for our hearts.

The weight of it all—the thoughts, the emotions—pressed down on him with unbearable force. The stress had worn him out. His legs gave way, and he crumpled to the deck with his back against the railing. His head hung low, and his shoulders sagged under the weight of his despair. “Somebody, please help me,” he murmured, his voice hollow. He sat there, unconscious to the passing of time, numbed and staring blankly ahead. Minutes passed before movement on the deck in the cordoned-off area about six meters in front of him caught his eye. A couple emerged from the entrance, stepping into the seating area not far from a sign that read STAFF ONLY. George’s gaze flicked to the sign and then back to the couple, who were laughing softly as they took seats at one of the empty tables. His eyes lingered on the pair, their shared contentment a stark contrast to his own inner turmoil. He watched them, detached and disinterested, his thoughts a tangled, weary haze as he remained rooted in his solitary vigil against the railing, unnoticed. A server appeared moments later, carrying a tray laden with plates. He approached the couple, setting the dishes before them with practiced efficiency. George half-listened as the server exchanged a few words with them.

“Enjoy your meal, Captain,” the man said with a polite nod before turning to the woman. “Ma’am.” And then he stepped away, leaving the couple to their meal.

Whether the wind had changed, or George was just paying more attention didn’t matter. His ears caught them clearly—words that jolted his heart. Was this really the Captain of the Skafos? George stirred from his cramped position, his aged, stiff legs protesting as he tried to rise. He staggered, gripping the railing for support. Blood rushed painfully back into his limbs, and he wobbled as he made his way toward the restricted patio. Reaching the barrier rope, he lifted it and awkwardly pulled it over his head as he bent under it. His movements were clumsy, and the rope snagged the sign beside it, sending it clattering onto the deck with a resounding crash. The couple at the table correspondingly jumped in their seats and looked in his direction. The man was still chewing as George approached with an intense expression. “Are you the Captain?” he blurted out. “You have to tell me—are you the Captain?”

The man placed his fork down and reached for his napkin to wipe his mouth. His eyes remained fixed on George, cautious.

“Tell me about the Owner,” George pressed, his tone growing frantic as he pointed up toward the penthouse residence towering above them. “Is the Owner up there?”

The man stiffened, nearly choking on his food. His wide-eyed glance shot to the woman across from him, her face mirroring his alarm. The man dropped the napkin on the table and looked around as if in search of help. He rose from his seat and placed himself protectively between George and the woman. “Sir,” the man said firmly, his voice measured yet steely, “this area is off-limits to passengers. You’ll have to leave.”

George hesitated, realizing he had intruded, but his need for answers was stronger than his embarrassment. He raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb your meal,” he said quickly, his gaze flicking from the man to the woman seated behind him. “I just—I need some answers, and you’re the only one who might have them. Please, tell me. Are you the Captain? I heard the server call you that.”

The man’s shoulders eased slightly. “Yes, I am,” he admitted, though his tone remained cautious. “But I’m not sure there’s anything I can do to help you.”

George sidestepped the Captain, addressing the woman now. “My wife got a white card.”

Her expression shifted at those words, her features softening with what looked like sympathy.

“I’m sorry to hear that, sir,” the Captain said quietly. “But you should know, there’s nothing I can do about that. It happens to all of us.”

George paused, his shoulders sagging. “Again, I’m sorry if I disturbed your meal,” he said earnestly. “My name is George. George Callahan.” His voice faltered, and he glanced back at the woman. “My wife’s name is Ruth. We just celebrated our 50th anniversary a couple of nights ago.”

The woman’s eyes filled with understanding. She reached out, lightly tugging at her partner’s sleeve. The Captain looked down at her, and she gave a small, encouraging nod. “It’s okay, Max,” she said gently. “I don’t mind. We can afford the time.”

With reluctance, Max returned to his seat. The woman offered George a kind smile and extended her hand. “My name is Serena,” she said. “I’m Max’s wife.”

George clasped her hand gratefully. “It’s genuinely nice to meet you. Please forgive my intrusion—it’s just that all of this has been so overwhelming. I think you can understand.”

Serena’s gaze didn’t waver. “Yes, George, I can, but it’s like my husband said. What could he possibly do?”

George took a tentative seat between them, leaning forward with earnest urgency. “There are things I’ve learned—things I need to verify,” he said, turning to Max. “And you, Captain, are the only one who can help.”

“What things?” Max asked warily.

George glanced briefly at Serena before locking eyes with Max. “I know until recently, you were not Captain. And I know the circumstances of that change were… tragic.”

Max’s face drained of color. He exchanged a nervous look with Serena. “I…I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“The Captain before you,” George pressed, his voice quiet but resolute, “he jumped off the ship. Witnesses saw it. They said it was deliberate.”

Max froze, the words hanging heavily between them. He glanced at Serena, who wore the same look of stupefaction he had. There was silence for a few moments before his expression slowly hardened, and he looked away, swallowing hard.

“Did you tell anyone about this?” Max asked, leaning forward, his voice a whisper.

George shook his head. “No, I haven’t.”

Max closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling sharply. “Well, let me tell you. That man wasn’t just the Captain. He was my friend.” His voice cracked slightly. “Our friend,” he added, glancing at Serena. “And I’d appreciate it if you continued to keep that to yourself.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” George said softly. “I truly am. I have no interest in spreading that around. But I need answers. Specifically, about the Owner.”

Max stiffened again, his discomfort evident. “What did you say? The Owner? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied with a targeted glance at his wife.

Serena shifted uneasily and returned an awkward glance at Max. “George,” she said gently, there’s no Owner. What would make you think that?”

George’s expression didn’t waver. “Oh, it’s not just me,” he said firmly. “There’s a number of people who believe that to be the case and what they say… well, it’s pretty outrageous..”

Serena tilted her head. “Outrageous how?”

George’s voice dropped, his words measured and deliberate. “Just that he’s been here a long time. A long, long time. Nobody knows just how long.” George looked at Max. “There have been many, many Captains before you that have reported to him.”

“And by long,” asked Serena with a bemused look, “what do you mean?”

“Centuries, at least.”

Serena let out a soft laugh, her bemused eyes meeting her husband’s. “Surely you don’t believe that, George.”

Max forced a tight-lipped smile, though the look in his eyes betrayed unease. “Yeah, George. That’s preposterous.”

George met their skepticism with quiet determination. “I’m not really sure what I believe. Like I said, I’m just trying to get answers. My wife will be leaving soon, and I have to know the truth.”

“How long does she have?” Serena asked, her voice tinged with genuine compassion.

“A few days is all.”

“I’m so sorry,” Serena murmured. “But I think your grief is distorting your reasoning. What you’re saying can’t be true.”

“I can tell you that there’s a group of people who would categorically refute that statement.”

“And what group is that?” asked Max.

“In deference to them I can’t tell you that, but believe me, there are no doubts with them.”

The tension was interrupted by the arrival of two crew members. They approached briskly, their expressions firm, and took up positions on either side of George. The taller of the two addressed Max with a clipped tone. “We got word that you were being disturbed, sir.”

The second crew member nodded curtly. “Yes. Edgar noticed that this man was interrupting your meal after serving you. This is a restricted area.”

Max glanced between them, his expression wavering. “Yeah, well, that was earlier. Things are fine now—we’re just talking," he replied casually, though his voice carried an edge of defensiveness.

The crew member nearest to Max leaned in slightly, his voice lowered but firm. “Nevertheless, sir, we need to maintain established protocols. It’s important that the rules are followed.” Straightening back up, he waited for Max's response.

Max hesitated, then shifted his gaze to Serena for a fleeting moment before turning to George with a reluctant sigh. “Uh, yeah… I suppose you’re right. I’m sorry, George, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave the area," he said, his tone tinged with regret.

George's eyes darted desperately to Serena, pleading silently for her intervention. Then he spoke, his voice thick with urgency. “No, please. I need to find out if what I’ve said is true. If it is, let me see that penthouse—let me see it! Surely you can grant that request from a man about to lose his wife.”

Max's face hardened, and he glanced at Serena once more before replying. "I’m sorry, George. I can’t do that. The occupants are very private and don’t wish to be disturbed.”

Before George could protest further, the nearest crew member grasped his arm firmly. “Sir, you’ll have to come with us. We’ll escort you off the deck.”

Serena’s voice cut through the tension as she looked at Max. “Max, really, is this necessary?”

Max avoided her gaze, his resolve visibly strained. “They’re right, Honey. We talked about this. We have to follow protocol.”

"But Max, you’re the Captain!" she countered, incredulous.

Max shook his head. “Yeah, but there’s things even I have to follow.” Turning back to George, his tone softened but carried the weight of finality. “I’m sorry, George, you’ll have to go with these men. It’s the rules.”

The other crewmember grabbed George’s arm and the two lifted him from the seat. George resisted, his movements stiff as he turned to Max. “I think this is an answer to some of my questions, but I haven’t told you everything.”

Serena, her expression full of sympathy, reached out to place a hand lightly on George’s. “Please communicate my sympathies to your wife.”

Without further protest, George allowed the crew members to guide him from the table, their grip firm as they escorted him toward the deck’s edge. He called over his shoulder in a voice rising with urgency. “There’s more that they told me!”

The crewmembers tightened their hold as they continued pulling him away. Serena's gaze remained fixed on Max. She spoke with an imploring note. “Max, he’s an old man.”

Max rose from his chair, his commanding presence returning briefly. “Hey guys, take it easy!” he barked, in a tone tinged with frustration.

At the stairway, George twisted his head back, calling out one last desperate revelation. “His name is Sirius. The Owner. His name is Sirius and he’s not one of us. He’s not Andreide!”

The crew members deposited George on the stair landing, creating a barrier between him and the deck. After a moment’s pause, George began descending the stairs, his shoulders drooping in resignation. Max stood motionless, staring after him, his mind racing with the implications of the words he'd just heard. Serena’s sharp glare pinned the crew members momentarily before Max lowered himself back into his chair, still reeling. His eyes flickered toward the shadows where the faint outline of a figure disappeared from view.