Hunt the Scorpion

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The first thing she noticed when she walked across the deck was the case-hardened locks on every outside door. Heavy-duty solid steel. Even on the smallest hatches. Also, the skylight over the engine room was cinched tight by a stainless-steel chain and secured with a padlock.

When she asked her husband, Jake-the captain of the forty-thousand-ton cargo ship-about them, he shrugged and mumbled one of his typically short answers. “No big deal. A simple precaution.”

“From what?”

“Aliens and peeping Toms.”

“Oh, Jake.”

They stood side by side on the navigation bridge of the MSC Contessa looking out at the rising moon, glowing mustard yellow. The sky was an iridescent shade of dark blue bleeding into purple. A swath of even darker clouds formed an arch above the moon like some mischievous child had smeared the sky with black ink.

“Stunning, eh?” Captain Jake McCullum offered.

“Breathtaking, darling, yes. How much longer until we reach Marseille?”

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