The Black Lung Captain
“Nice kitty.' The Ketty Jay's cargo hold was always gloomy. The electric lighting was pitiful and at least fifty per cent of the bulbs had burned out and never been replaced. Harkins wasn't a fan of dark places at the best of times, but tonight he was particularly on edge. Tonight, he was hunting. In one hand was a smal wooden packing crate, open at one end. In the other was a thick blanket. He stalked through the maze of boxes and junk machinery that had occupied the back of the hold for as lon...g as anyone could remember. This was the last time he'd be terrorised by a cat. By tomorrow morning, he'd be a man. 'Come on, Slag,' he murmured. 'Nice Slag. Harkins just wants to be friends.' Bess was watching him curiously from the gloom. She moved back and forth to keep him in view, fascinated by his strange behaviour. Harkins did his best to ignore her, and concentrated on calming his hammering heart. Slag was in here somewhere. He knew it. He'd spent the night lying in wait, down here in the hold, hoping for his chance.MoreLess
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