Oblivion

They had exchanged looks even as Tim was walking up the gangplank onto the cruise ship he was taking out of Baltimore Harbor for a long weekend cruise to Bermuda. The officers of the crew were standing in a long line of pristine-white uniforms on the rail three decks above the gangplank. The one with the most gold braiding on his uniform caught Tim’s eye, and they exchanged interested glances in a way that Tim had learned to recognize oh so well.

Even then it was a surprise to Tim when he received the invitation to sit at the Captain’s table on the first night out to sea. The captain turned out to be that man who had been wearing the most gold braiding on his uniform that afternoon while the passengers were embarking.

The captain was tall and well-built. He was maybe in his late forties and had the look of a Greek god about him, a mature one, though, a regular Zeus. He certainly was in full command on this ship. The rest of the crew seemed to scuttle around doing his bidding without him even having to give a verbal command.

Tim is sitting beside him at the table, obviously a place of honor, and the other passengers at the table are looking speculatively at Tim, wondering what manufacturing mogul he’s the son of. Tim feels the socked toe work itself under the hem of his trousers and move up and rub against his shin. When Tim feels a strong hand squeezing his thigh, he turns his face toward the captain, who is giving him a piercing look.