Corporal Davis continued to stroll down the eerie streets of Kentucket. Although he was in no real rush, he still glared moodily at anyone who blocked his path until they shuffled aside. It was an old salvagers habit and a hard one to break, even in retirement.

The town of Kentucket was a moderately prosperous one. It sat upon a brief range of hills where many small streams meandered through the low grounds, ducking under decorative bridges and squeezing through numerous small dams. The ornate dams created a series of ponds and tiny lakes that supplemented local irrigation, served as rice paddies, or were home to shoals of captive fish.

The numerous streams connected as they fled the hills, forming into one nameless river that rolled down through the Wastelands and fed into the Nias Sea. However, this spectacular water system had nothing to do with delivering the most striking feature of the town.

Large wooden hulks towered above the shops and small homes, and in these ancient pirate junks were housed some of the more prominent businesses of Kentucket. The story of what they were and how they had come to be here was an often-told one because they were probably the closest things to a tourist attraction in the Wastelands.

The crews of these vessels had been loyal to the infamous female pirate, Ching Shih and had deserted their vessels not long after the Vortex had ripped them from the seas of Earth and dumped them here. They had quickly made for the oceans, which were more familiar territory and soon afterwards, local settlers had stripped the junks of all available metal before turning them into hardened buildings. It was indicative of the Pangaean mentality. Nothing ever went to waste, and one mans derelict was another mans treasure.

The wooden shells had discarded their threatening pirate insignia and now flaunted inviting signs, bargains, offers, and other enticements to draw people up their gangplanks and drawbridges. Homes had grown on the decks and some of the larger masts bore makeshift windmills.

Sometimes Davis wondered why the existence of the Vortex continued to remain hidden from the nations of Earth. Historical losses such as the pirate ships had been concealed by the passing of countless years and in modern times, wartime casualties were easily attributed to hostile action. Nevertheless, he could not comprehend how anyone could so readily write off those that the rift was taking even today.

The area where the gateway most often opened was a paranoid one with old enmities, covert action, and constant power struggles that could offer a cover, but it still amazed Davis that no action or investigation ever seemed to happen. Still, he was here now and pining about another world was futile. He brushed the thoughts away and surveyed the odd town with fresh enthusiasm.

Davis liked Kentucket. It had a calmer air to it than the more rambunctious settlements of the inner territories. There were some generators offering token power to the more prestigious locations, but the frontier quality of the Wastelands remained and as usual was tempered by the scarcity of any metal.

Davis had been instrumental in offering this town as a destination and had largely done so in the hope of breaking the Captains melancholy attitude. If this did not work, a taste of long lost home might and so they would follow the river down to the coastal town of Yorktah. This was one of the oldest American settlements, primarily due to the arrival of the USS Cyclops back in 1918. The five hundred and fifty-foot long cargo ship now sported oars, catapults, ballista, and trebuchets to guard the town from raiders. It was the only metal-hulled vessel still in operation and was the towns most prized and honoured asset. Cyclops was also unusual in that it had been dragged through from a chance activation of the Vortex near the coast of Bermuda. Most craft were sucked through off Japan, and most of these were dropped in the foreboding depths of the Kami Empire.

Everyone feared the Empire, and it caused great anxiety for Davis when his Captain occasionally looked towards the west where an impenetrable shield wall linked armoured pagodas and sported ranks of artillery to deny access to that strange and decadent land.

Candice had been taken there, and the Captains heart and enthusiasm had gone with her. Davis could entirely sympathise, because even in a land where females were as rare as metal, the woman had been exceptional. Delicate sable locks contrasted blue eyes that sparkled like ice against a midwinter sun. Unblemished pale skin that had clearly never tasted toil or abrasive desert winds contained sublime curves and a toned and alluring physique. There had been something so entrancing about her, a fragility that seemed completely at odds with her brash and rebellious nature. When she was bound, the tight embrace of rope seemed to protect as well as subdue and it had been hard for Davis to refrain from constantly staring at her when she was in this vulnerable state.

Candice had earned more money and prestige for the salvagers than the sale of all the looted material from her yacht, but the slave market that had bought her failed to profit from her purchase.

A sudden brittle crash snatched his attention and Davis whirled to see a humanoid form fly through a window and tumble onto the street. Shards of broken glass danced upon the wooden sidewalk and the figure briefly pawed at the bare soil of the road before laying still.

Davis drew his sword and instantly broke into a sprint. He burst through the saloon doors and squinted to accustom to the gloom. The doors swung shut in his wake and reduced the amount of light even further.