'But Captain, i think you need to hear what this deckhand has to say, before we reach the island,' Scully implored.
'And as i told ye before, i'll be happy to hear the why's and whatevers of this lad's tale, just not before my belly is full of pork and rum,' replied the Captain. He turned away and began lowering himself onto his dining chair with the precision of a man trying park on an egg without crushing it. The officers were sat at the table growing impatient with hunger.
Scully knew that dining sessions were notoriously long when the booze was plentiful. They would arrive at the island before it ended and then it would be too late.
'Captain-' She gulped when he glared up at her, his lips glistening with pork fat. 'This lad was a prisoner on the island.'
The young lad stepped forward. Scully pulled back his shirt sleeve to reveal a crude tattoo.
'The mark of Catan!' cried an officer. The disaster of years ago was felt again by the Captain, even in his mechanical hand.