12-year-old Lewis Howard sat behind the locked passenger door positioned in the cargo bay door of the Nordic Troll, waiting for the crew to return. Mom had been very clear: keep the door locked and don’t open it until she or the captain called him. So there he sat, for two hours, waiting for someone to call or something. He was starting to get a little anxious: what if something happened? What if there were still Reavers out there and they all got eaten? That’s it, he decided. I’ll give them fifteen more minutes and then…..well, then I’ll wait a little longer. But they’d better hurry up, either way.

Ten minutes later he jumped as someone suddenly pounded on the door. The intercom crackled to life. “Lewis!” his mother shouted over the speaker. “Lewis, where are you?”

Lewis pounded the button. “Right here, mom”.

“Open the small door and stand back behind it”.

“Huh?”

“Do as I say!” Anna sounded agitated. Lewis released the mechanical bolt to the door, pulled hard on the manual handle and wrestled it open. As the heavy door slowly swung open, the rest of the crew squeezed through the door carrying something bound in a tarpaulin and cargo straps. Lewis crept around the door to get a peek at what they were carrying. “What’s that?” When he saw the scarred face protruding from the tarp, he jumped back. “Woah!” he exclaimed. “What the hell you guys doing with a Reaver?!?”

“Watch your mouth”, Anna and Doc remanded him in unison.

“He’s right”, Reilly said to Gerrin. “I think the thin air’s gotten to you”.

“Deal with it, Reilly”, Gerrin grunted.

“How do you even know it’s her?” Loomie broke in.

“This is how!” Gerrin snapped, letting go of the bundle and pulling up his right sleeve to reveal a faded tattoo. Th