Twilight_Scribe
patreon
Chapter 15: The Haul
🕑 Added 2025-06-08 09:42:47 +0000 UTC
The kid who'd nearly lost his arm still trembling as he clutched the stainless steel cup of whiskey wasn't exactly your average deckhand.
He was a mutant.
Not one of the flashy, headline-making types with laser eyes or metal wings. No, this one had discreet gills along the sides of his neck like a shark. Made him useful for underwater recon, especially when it came to spotting king crab migrations.
Useful... in theory.
But like most mutations, there were drawbacks. The Bering Sea's freezing waters didn't care if you had gills hypothermia still hit the same. And while he could breathe underwater, getting back onboard in rough seas took time, effort, and often risk.
Because of that, the kid rarely went down. In five days at sea, he'd taken the plunge all of twice. Most of the time, it was still up to Captain George's decades of experience to track down crab clusters.
And if Henry was honest, the kid didn't exactly scream "crab boat material." Thin. Frail. All nerve and no muscle. For a job built on raw endurance and teamwork, he sat in a weird space too useful to ignore, too fragile to fully rely on.
Was there discrimination against mutants on crab boats?
Not here. Not under Captain George's watch. Not when every hand counted.
His words were gospel aboard the Annie II:
> "You've got hands and don't eat your crewmates when rations run low? You're welcome aboard."
Out on the water, the only thing that mattered was whether or not you pulled your weight. Everything else mutations, politics, race got tossed overboard.
Well, unless you were lazy. Then a "fall" into ten-foot waves might just be "an unfortunate accident."
The mutant kid sat there nursing his whiskey for a solid twenty minutes, eyes glazed and still pale. Can't really blame him he'd come inches from losing a limb. Or his life.
When he finally stood and rejoined the crew, no one gave him grief. Hell, in this line of work, just getting back up earned respect.
Henry, on the other hand, had knocked back his own drink and gotten straight back to it.
By now Day 5 the crew operated like clockwork. Even Henry, the greenest of the green, had settled into rhythm. A nod here, a glance there. They barely needed to speak anymore.
And though none of the old hands were saying it out loud, every single one of them knew the truth:
> This rookie was punching way above his pay grade.
---
By sunrise on Day 6, the Annie II was headed back to port.
They hadn't even cleared the last crab bed. The hold was just too damn full. Packed to the brim with writhing, oversized crustaceans. At that point, staying out any longer was just asking for trouble.
Docking meant more than just tying off. The crew still had to unload the crabs, pack them in ice, weigh them, and prep them for sale. The harbor wasn't some slick, high-end auction block like in the big cities but it had its own rugged system.
Buyers from fisheries were already waiting guys with clipboards, checkbooks, and cold eyes. They scoped out the first few crates, gauged size and quality, then placed their bids on the whole haul.
Whoever won the bid would write a check on the spot payable to the captain, or in this case, to Captain and Owner George.
Then came the payout.
Most of the crew were on fixed contracts. A few of the more senior guys had profit shares, getting bonuses tied to how big the haul was.
If the captain and the ship's haul were solid, everyone got paid real money.
Henry was, naturally, the last in line to get his paycheck. The others left the captain's small office with wide grins and folded checks, already tossing around plans for bar crawls and weekend benders.
Even the mutant kid was bouncing on his heels, flicking his check like it was a winning lottery ticket.
"Drinks on me tonight!" he shouted, high on adrenaline and the smell of shore.
When it was finally Henry's turn, he glanced down at his check and froze.
"…Captain, you sure this isn't a mistake?"
George didn't even look up. "No mistake, kid."
"But this is way more than the rate you quoted me."
"Yeah," George said, setting down his pen and leaning back in his chair. "I checked that frayed hoist line myself. It was a maintenance screw-up. My screw-up. I should've caught it before we left port.
"You saved that kid's arm and saved me from an insurance claim. That extra cash? Consider it hush money from the universe."
Across the room, the mutant kid's ears perked up. "Wait, I could've gotten insurance money?!"
He was immediately rewarded with a sharp smack to the back of the head from one of the veteran deckhands.
"You want a check or your arm, dipshit?"
The kid glanced down at his still-attached limb and cradled it sheepishly. "Arm. Arm's great. Never better."
Henry chuckled and tucked the check into his coat pocket. "Thanks, boss."
He'd already peeked at everyone else's amounts one of the perks of having super-vision. Even with the bonus, he'd still earned the least. Same as the mutant kid.
But for a rookie? It was more than fair. Actually, it was generous.
---
With checks in hand, the mood turned rowdy. Plans were made. Bars were chosen. And a few of the older guys just wanted to sleep for three days straight and pretend their backs didn't hurt.
Captain George didn't join the party. Once docked, he was back to his usual no-nonsense self.
But when he noticed Henry still hanging around the dock, he paused.
"…You need a ride?"
Henry nodded. "If it's not trouble. Thought I'd head back to John's bar. Maybe hit the bank on the way."
George jerked a thumb toward his truck. "Hop in. I'll get you there."
Henry hesitated. Then asked, "Captain… will there be another run?"
George gave him a sidelong glance. "You asking for a spot?"
"I want back in. I want to work."
Most people ran from the crab boat life the minute their feet hit dry land. Henry? He wanted another ticket back. It wasn't just about the money though the money helped. It was the feeling.
The rhythm. The focus. The clean weight of exhaustion, earned. And yeah, the sunlight helped too his body drank it in like fuel, burning away fatigue as if it never existed.
Captain George studied him for a beat. "You're serious?"
"Dead serious."
"Good." George smiled faintly, like he'd expected as much. "I'll keep your bunk warm."
