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We had ended up in a large cabin, at the end we had entered was a long table set out with wooden bowls and a long bench at either side where the majority of the crew already sat. At the other end of the room was what I could only assume the sleeping quarters for the crew, several dozen hammocks slung up in rows. These men were horrid, their attention instantly upon me their eyes raking my flesh with savage intent behind the gaze. I panicked and moved to flee, only to find myself struck hard again by the same strong hand as had struck me moments before. I was knocked off balance by the strike and cried out as I stumbled and fell down against the damp wooden floors. The crew advanced on me, hands found their way to where no man had any right to place them; disgusting grimy fingers pulled at my dress and fumbled my flesh. I screwed my eyes tight shut and tried to wake myself, this wasn't happening, it had to be some awful dream. A hand had reached for my most private of places and a fat. A few seconds later, a picture of a man sitting in a leather armchair popped up on the screen--real-time video, Darren surmised. "Hello, Mr. Miles," came a deep voice from the speakers. "How was your trip?"Even if Darren hadn't just seen a picture of Steve Carstairs a day ago (extra background research on his part), the family resemblance between him and Kilmeny was quite striking. "Quite comfortable, Mr. Carstairs. Thank you for asking." After this, you're likely to see me only once or twice a year, when I stop by for holidays. I trust that you will find all things to your satisfaction during your tenure here. Please feel free to contact me should anything critical comes up." Glancing at his watch, he continued, "You must be tired from your flight, so I won't keep you. Good night, Mr. Miles." He reached out and pressed a button on his desk, and the screen went blank.Darren sat back in the chair, letting out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. "Give a guy some warning next.
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