On the afternoon of your fifth day aboard the Sam Malone, as you are standing on deck and watching the blankness of the ocean pass by, the captain approaches you. He is a small man, Pakistani by birth, and until this trip the idea of a Pakistani ship captain never occurred to you. On this voyage you have apparently been an added responsibility for him — a draw on the ship's stores, but not a source of useful labor. While his crew has been scurrying about the ship to keep it functioning, you have been lolling around like an idle tourist.


"This is as close to Auri Island as we'll get!" he says.


"Really?" you say. "I can't even see it."


"Of course not. You're on the port side of the ship. Auri Island is to starboard."


You're about to walk around to the other side of the boat to see the island for yourself when the captain extends his arm to block you.


"There's no time for sightseeing!" he scolds. His fondness for efficiency seems almost British, as does his accent. "My men are preparing a small boat for you right now. You need to get your things so you can be on your way. Hurry now!"


You rush to the quarters that had been assigned to you below: a small room, yes, but comfortably furnished with a vanity, a queen-sized bed, and a wardrobe filled with women's clothing. You have been spending as little time here as possible, because you get the strong vibe that this is where the "female companionship" would normally reside... if you hadn't come along to displace that person, perhaps forcing the captain to leave her behind in Hawaii. Or maybe he just has some embarrassing dressing habits, when he thinks no one is looking. Either way, this would explain his impatience with you, and his eagerness now to get you off the ship.


It doesn't take long to gather your belongings, which are all contained in a single backpack. Then you rush back up to the deck, curious to see how the captain plans to get you ashore.


The crew is gathered at the stern of the ship, where they have just lowered a boat over the side. You look over the rails and see a sporty red Zodiac bobbing beside the hull of the cargo ship.


"Use this rope to lower yourself down!" the captain says. "Hurry! Hurry! Before she drifts away!"


Did they really lower the Zodiac down to the water's surface without tethering it to the Sam Malone? There's no use in arguing with the man if indeed that's what happened, so you grab hold of the rope and rappel down the side of the hull until you are safely in the Zodiac. The rope is immediately reeled back into the ship, as if to prevent you from changing your mind. The crew doesn't even linger to wish you a safe journey.


The Zodiac is essentially a raft with an outboard motor, with enough space for you and your pack, but not a heck of a lot else. This might be the perfect boat for tooling around some lake, but here in the South Pacific — with the cargo ship speeding away toward Tahiti — you feel tiny and vulnerable. At least you have calm seas in your favor.


Another boon: the outboard engine starts on the first try, and purrs as if it were brand new. Auri Island, with its gentle and verdant slopes, is a few nautical miles ahead of you; Woban Island is some distance beyond.


So off you go, piloting the red Zodiac across the waves, your next adventure about to start in earnest. Despite the odd and rushed manner in which you departed the Sam Malone, it feels good to be in the open air, alone and in pursuit of a clearly-stated objective — and hopefully with no plaid suits for thousands of miles around. Your only regret is not grabbing something to eat before leaving the ship.


You can't help but notice that the hour is getting late, though. There is only a short period of twilight at these latitudes, and darkness can set in quickly. It's going to take you a while to reach the islands, so you have a choice to make: Do you head to Auri Island, the closer of the two, and spend the night there? Or do you steer the boat toward Woban Island so you can get a head start on your mission?


Auri looks like a typical tropical island, with broad beaches and an inviting shoreline. Woban Island, of course, is where you ultimately need to be, but from this distance its coastline looks like a series of cliffs plunging into the ocean. Finding a suitable place to land might take time — daylight that you may or may not have at your disposal.


__________________________________________________

You head straight to Woban Island.

It is best to remain focused on your goal, and in this case your goal is to obtain the Stone of Vul-Kar and deliver it to Boston for two million dollars. You will not be furthering your cause by spending the night on Auri Island, and Diane Chambers will not pay you if no purple gem is procured. Or if someone gets to it before you do. Therefore you choose to motor right by Auri in the Zodiac, heading straight for Woban instead.


But as you get closer to Woban Island, proximity doesn't make the view any more flattering; what appeared to be steep cliffs and mountainsides plunging straight into the sea from a few miles away prove to be exactly that upon closer inspection.


What you wouldn't give for a topographic map right about now! You had assumed a tiny little island would be simple to navigate — just climb to the highest point, grab the stone, and go home — but you can see now that the geography here is a lot more complicated. From what you can gather, the southern end of the island is occupied by this range of small mountains that you now see, and the jewel must be securely hidden somewhere among them. You examine the mountains as you putz past them on the water, looking for signs of the temple on the highest summit, but everything up there looks thickly forested. And steep. You didn't realize this might become a mountaineering adventure. If it does, you're going to be woefully underprepared.


There are of course no published maps of the place that you can buy from Amazon, and even Google hasn't updated its digital cartography to show these new land discoveries. The best you could do in your limited prep time was print off some satellite imagery using a laser printer you found on the Sam Malone. According to your low-grade, grayscale screen capture from Google, the land tapers away for several miles beyond the mountains to the northeast. So it looks like you will need to land there and then navigate your way inland through the foothills — some way, somehow.


The problem is that it will take you several miles to get to that other side of the island where landing is possible, and this Zodiac can only go so fast.


You give this southern part of the island a wide berth; who knows what reefs might be lurking just below the water's surface, capable of shredding the Zodiac to pieces before you even realize there's a problem. If that were to happen, there would be no place for you to reach shore safely. Instead, you tool along to the northwest about a full mile from the shoreline, heading to a prominent headland that you think marks the corner of the island. Get around that, and you should start to see more landing opportunities on the other side.


Not surprisingly, though, this is turning into a race with the setting sun, which is only a few fingers above the western horizon. Your little boat is not equipped with any spotlights, and once you lose the daylight you'll be stranded in the darkness. C'mon, little Zodiac! Steady as she goes! You can do it! Don't fail me now! These and other forms of mental encouragement don't seem to have much bearing on the speed of the boat, though.


The sun is setting just as you near the tip of the headland. The clock is set: in maybe thirty more minutes, night will have settled in over Woban Island. Had you chosen to stop at Auri, you'd probably be enjoying life beside a campfire right now. As it stands, you can only hope you'll find a place to safely make landfall before the clock runs out. Then you can look forward to a night of sitting in the dark, with no idea where exactly you are.


You decide it's worth cutting the corner a bit around the headland; you might still hit something submerged, but you'll be traveling less distance around the cliffy peninsula. As you steer the boat around its tip, you see that the mountainous portion of the island is coming to an end, with miles of sand beaches beyond. The end is in sight! Even if darkness overtakes you, all you have to do now is point the boat toward land, ease up on the throttle, and take it slowly until you hear waves breaking ahead of you.


Hold on, what's that? On the nearest section of beach, just ahead of you, you see a flickering orange light. Actually, the light is not on the beach, but a short distance back in the jungle. A campfire, without a doubt. And that dark object you see on the sandy shoreline? That looks like someone's boat.


This puts a wrinkle in your plans. You knew you'd have competition from other jewel-seekers, but it never occurred to you that you might run into them so soon. Are these people friendly? Many of the people in your "profession" are highly competitive and will do anything to knock their opponents out of the race. On the other hand, there are several research teams that have been studying Woban Island ever since its discovery a few years ago, and you'd expect such people to be collegiate and cordial. You'd rather avoid the former type of people at all costs, but the latter kind could actually be interesting. Who knows what kinds of useful information you might glean from spending a night with people whose interest in the island is purely science-minded? Maybe they would even have a spare map of the island to give you.


But here's the bottom line: 


Whoever is there has certainly heard your boat by now; sneaking past them is not a possibility. So you have the option to either land there in the few remaining minutes of twilight available to you, or to venture further up the beach in the dark. You won't be able to see anything, and where you land will be a crapshoot. 


__________________________________________________

You land near the other boat and the campfire.

You point the bow of the Zodiac in the direction of the campfire and ease off the throttle. If there is danger here, it is best to confront it head-on — you've already inadvertently revealed yourself anyway, so even if you did continue up the beach, the trouble would probably just follow you. On the other hand, if these people are friendly, you might as well see if they are useful as well.


The twilight is very dim now, almost completely vanished for the evening, but even so you can make out two figures making their way down a path from the fire to the beach. You cannot make out any other details about them, even as they stand by the water's edge watching you slowly approach. Are they armed? The only thing you can say for sure is that they are keeping quiet — and they are probably just as apprehensive about you as you are of them. Can you blame them? You must look pretty suspicious yourself. Who would be taking a pleasure cruise in a Zodiac around Woban Island? And who would be doing so in the dark?


You decide to make the first move. You turn off the outboard motor about two hundred feet from shore. If these people were hostile and wanted to shoot at you, they would have done so by now.


"Hello there!" you shout to the shadowy duo. "I'm looking for a place to camp for the night. Do you mind if I come in?"


"Are you from the university?" It's a woman's voice.


"University?" you say.


"We've been expecting more people."


It's just as you thought: this must be a research team from some school with a top-notch ethnography program. In other words, you've stumbled across some harmless academic types.


"I'm not from a university," you call back across the dark water. "I'm just looking for a safe place to land."


"Well come on in," the woman shouts back. "We've got plenty of room!"


You restart the motor and slowly move closer to the beach, cutting it off again and tipping it up just before making landfall. An incoming wave helps push the Zodiac onto the beach.


"Here, let me give you a hand with that." It's a man's voice. The figure flicks on a headlamp strapped to his forehead, making it difficult for you to look at him. But he is tugging at one of the handles attached to your inflatable boat to pull it the rest of the way out of the water. You hop out on the other side so you can match his effort. The woman flicks on her headlamp and grabs a strap near the bow.


"On three," the man says, and when he gives the mark all three of you tug the Zodiac up the beach, finally stopping just before the treeline. Your boat comes to rest beside a small dinghy, which has been flipped upside-down for the night.


"Nice boat," the man says. You see his headlamp beam tracing the length and width of your ride as he looks it over. "Yours?"


"I'm borrowing it from a friend," you say, not yet ready to reveal all of the details of why you're here.


"I see. Need a hand with anything?"


"Everything I own is in this pack here," you say, hoisting your backpack out of the Zodiac and over your right shoulder. "Will the boat be safe here?"


"It should. The tide doesn't come this high."


"Hey, come up to the campsite," the woman says. "You must be tired and starving!"


She's right on both counts. You follow their headlamp beams up a dark trail into the jungle, where you find a spacious campsite well-lit by their small fire.


"If you brought a tent, you can set it up over there," the woman says.


You turn to see that they have both switched off their headlamps, so you can look at them without being blinded. They are fairly young, probably both pursuing doctoral degrees or something. She has an athletic build, wearing khaki shorts and a white tank top, with her blond hair drawn into a ponytail. He is wearing long clothing, walking around in a pair of unlaced boots. He sports a set of mutton chop sideburns, glasses, and a twill flat cap — a rather hipsterish look for someone way out here in the wilds of the South Pacific. He looks like a fugitive from a microbrewery.


Setting your backpack down in the space you have been offered, you begin to rummage inside for something to eat.


"Would you like some fish?" your hostess asks. "Gordy caught a mahi-mahi today, and it was more than we could finish. The leftovers are on that bench over there. Help yourself."


She is pointing to a cluttered table to the side of the campsite, of the kind that can be collapsed down into a portable bundle. There is a gas stove on top, and half a dozen discarded propane canisters on the ground around it.


"Um, thanks," you say. Their hospitality is more than you ever expected. It looks like you made the best possible decision in coming here!


__________________________________________________

Next page.

Later that evening, after first finishing off the mahi-mahi like someone who hasn't seen food in days, and then setting up your little dome tent in the space you have been offered, you join your new companions around their campfire.


"Is it really just the two of you here?" you say, deciding you ought to pump these people for information — without seeming to be overly nosy. What you really want to know is whether or not they have any maps of the island, of course. If you ask for one right away, they'll probably hesitate at first until they think of something they want in return. But if you can build a rapport first, they might just give you a map as a favor.


"We're keeping an eye on things while everybody else goes back for a resupply," the man says.


A resupply? you think. Is there a grocery store somewhere around here? You look around the campsite. In addition to the table, there is a cluster of larger tents off to one side, and stacks of plastic totes to the other. Someone wrote "UofC" with a Sharpie on the side of each tote, some of which are made of clear plastic. They still look full.


"I see half a dozen tents over there," you say. "How big of a group do you have?"


"Good question," he says to his companion. "What are there, twelve people?"


Instead of answering, the woman turns brightly toward you. "We never introduced ourselves, did we? My name is Charlei. This here is Gordon; I call him Gordy."


After telling them your name, you add, "I've never met a girl named Charlei before. Short for Charlene?"


"No, just Charlei. Charlei Goodcheer." She leans into Gordy, clutching his arm and shoulder affectionately. "And this is Gordon Fellows. Together we're the Goodcheer-Fellows!"


With that, she holds up her left hand briefly so you can see the gold ring. Gordy leans in gives his wife a quick kiss on the head.


"You two look like you're on your honeymoon," you say.


"Well, we're trying to earn a little money to pay off our student loans and maybe buy a house, if you know what I mean," Gordy says.


You want to ask them about the "UofC" and which university program they're working for, but instead Charlei gets her question out first. "How about you? What brings you out here all by yourself?"


"Me?" you say. "My story is not too interesting." You'd rather be learning more about them, but you can't appear pushy. Hopefully, like most people, they'll lose interest in you and start gushing about themselves.


"Oh, I'm sure it is interesting," she says. "Boring people don't ride a little inflatable Zodiac across the Pacific Ocean just to go camping out on Woban Island."


"Well, no, I guess n—"


"I'll bet you're here to find the Stone of Vul-Kar," Gordy says, almost like he's teasing you.


"Don't worry, we don't judge," Charlei says. "You're not the only person on this island who'd like to get their hands on the stone."


One of the reasons you've been skittish about revealing your true reasons for being on Woban Island is that every now and then you meet one of these academic types who looks down at you and your livelihood. You remember well how one rugged-looking archeologist became outraged at you, dismissing you as a "self-involved thrill seeker", right after you suggested your professions were essentially the same thing. "How dare you insult me like that!" he said, his voice having turned stentorian in his indignation. "I advance human knowledge. All you do is loot and plunder."


To be fair, though, that was just one encounter, and from what you can tell this happily wedded couple couldn't be more different. You repeat their name in your head: the Goodcheer-Fellows. Usually the sound of one of those trendy hyphenated surnames makes you groan, but you have to admit this one has a clever ring to it. You get the sense Charlei and Gordy enjoy introducing themselves using the same exact routine they just used on you.


"That Zodiac looks brand new," Gordy says. "Is that a Mark III?"


You're confused by the question. "I wouldn't know. It belongs to the person who hired me."


"So someone just dropped you off so you could explore Woban Island all on your own?" he says.


"Pretty much, yes," you say.


"That is so friggin' cool! So is this, like, your job or something? Are you a professional adventurer?"


"I guess you could say that… ."


"This must just be another day at the office for you, then."


"I never thought about it that way, but yeah, sure, I guess."


The Goodcheer-Fellows are sitting together on a large log next to the fire. Charlei leans into her husband, as if the act of listening to you talk about yourself makes her feel more romantic toward Gordy.


"Aren't you scared to be out here alone?" she says. "Do you carry a gun?"


"No, no guns," you say. "They cause more trouble than they solve, in my opinion."


"Well, I'd want to carry gun," Charlei says. Then she cranes her chin up to look at Gordy. "Wouldn't you carry a gun, honey?"


Instead of responding to his wife, Gordy has more questions for you. "Someone with your experience must have a plan for getting the stone."


"I'm still working out the details," you say. "I didn't realize I'd be making landfall so late in the day. I plan to get my bearings in the morning."


"It's OK if you don't want to tell us your plan," Charlei says. "It's just that we've heard lots of people come to Woban Island looking for the stone, but you're the first one we've met."


"We must be keeping you up," Gordy says with an apologetic note. "You're probably someone who gets up at the crack of dawn."


Charlei, who is practically reclining in his lap, stretches her arms as she yawns. "We're keeping me up. Do you have any more of that sleep aid?"


Gordy reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a small flask. Charlei sits up, unscrews the cap, and takes a swig. "Gin. You want some?" she says, holding the flask in your direction when she's done.


"No, thanks."


With his lap now empty, Gordy stands up. "It's way past our bedtime. Are you ready to turn in, honey?"


"I'm beat. It's been a long day." Then she stands up too, her face contorted in a big yawn. "It was great meeting you!"


"Yeah, same," you say. "Have a good night."


"Good night," Gordy says. But then the two of them walk off into the woods, not toward any of the tents. He sees you following them with your eyes, and he notices your curious expression. "I set our tent up over here, so Charlei wouldn't have to walk too far in the dark to find the latrine. See you in the morning."


Moments later, you find yourself alone by the dwindling campfire, surrounded by the dark jungle and all of the "UofC" camping gear. You're a little disappointed with yourself for losing control of the conversation, and talking so much about yourself. You learned nothing about the "UofC" or when the remainder of the research team is due back — from wherever it was they went. The Goodcheer-Fellows lived up to their shared surname, and you enjoyed their company, but this encounter didn't go quite the way you planned.


You're not quite ready to turn in for the night, so you grab a few more sticks from a stack of wood near the fireplace. You toss them into the small blaze, giving it a few more minutes of life. With no more chatter to distract you, all you hear is the babbling of a small brook in the nearby woods, and the rhythmic splashing of the waves down on the beach. You don't hear a peep from Gordy and Charlei.


An idea occurs to you. If you didn't learn what you wanted to know through conversation, maybe you should use a more direct method. After all, you are now alone in a campsite filled with gear and supplies. The maps you need so you can find your way to the Stone of Vul-Kar must be safely stored in those totes, or perhaps in one of the tents. And who knows what else you'll find in the process? Extra food, a better sleeping bag, maybe a "UofC" Nalgene bottle to take as a souvenir? This expedition looks like it was well outfitted, and you feel certain you'll find what you're looking for, and more; that which Diane Chambers was unable to provideth, may the "UofC" furnish for the glory of your expedition.


In your experience, nosiness often pays off. Indeed, it has served you well so far tonight. But, yeah, the Goodcheer-Fellows were nice people, and stealing is bad. So there is that to consider.


__________________________________________________

You take a look around the campsite.

You throw a few more sticks on the fire, letting the flames build higher so they can illuminate more of the campsite. This will call less to attention to yourself, you reason; if you fetched your own headlamp out of your pack and used that as you snooped through the university's gear, the erratic beams of light would telegraph your activities to your neighbors. You pause one more time to make sure you can't hear Charlei or Gordy moving around, and then you pad quietly over to the collection of totes.


There are about a dozen of them, stacked in three columns about twenty feet from the nearest tent. Only a few of them are clear-sided, and these don't seem to contain much of anything exciting; one is filled with toilet paper rolls, another seems to contain nothing but cans of ground coffee. Most of the totes, though, are made of solid gray plastic, meaning you will have to open them to see what's inside — and so of course these are the ones that intrigue you the most.


You take one down from the top of the nearest stack and set it at your feet. You grab each end of the lid and gently tug at it, but it still comes off with a sharp snap! that freezes you in momentary terror. In the calm of the night, the sound seemed amplified. You stand there for a few seconds, holding the lid in your hands like the guilty snoop that you are, until you are satisfied that there is no sound of movement from the direction of the Goodcheer-Fellows' tent.


It is therefore very disappointing to look down and see that you have opened a container full of dehydrated food, all of it neatly organized in plastic freezer bags: assorted fruits and vegetables, mostly, with hand-printed labels. It must have taken somebody a month to prepare all this stuff using one of those do-it-yourself food dehydrators you can buy for your kitchen. This is all very interesting, but of course this isn't what you were hoping to find.


You leave that tote opened on the ground, because if you find nothing better you may want to come back and help yourself to some dried fruit. The next tote you pick is from the stack that is to the rear of the other two; and in the hope that randomness in the selection will yield more interesting results in the contents, you pick the third one from the top.


After moving the top two totes out of the way, you place your selection beside the first tote you opened. You try your best to be as gentle as possible this time, but apparently these lids were designed by a jack-in-the-box manufacturer. Despite your efforts to be quiet, this one too opens with a sharp snap. You might as well be banging on a soup pot with a heavy stick.


Spaghetti, boxes of it. And not even the good kind, either, but the whole wheat variety. There are also several jars of meatless sauce. These two items constitute the entire inventory of the second tote.


You aren't doing so well here; so far the most tempting items you've come across are an extra roll of T.P. and a baggie of dried strawberries. Perhaps it's time to move on to the quieter pursuit of snooping inside the tents.


As before, you toss a few extra sticks on the fire to build it back up; the tents are in a shadowy part of the campsite, so the extra light will be helpful. Then you proceed to nearest of the nylon shelters.


You hadn't noticed this before, but the flap is unzipped; the mesh panel that should be kept closed to keep the bugs out is hanging limply in the night air. No, actually — it's torn, as if something crashed through it. And why does the ground in front of it look dark and wet?


With growing apprehension you look inside, and see several people sprawled out inside. Are they sleeping? It's too dark to tell. You reel back, worried that your presence at the entrance of the tent might wake them. But how is it you never even knew they were here until now? How did they not wake up while you were talking loudly with the Goodcheer-Fellows? And didn't Charlei and Gordon tell you there was no one else here?


The situation is not adding up. You distinctly remember being told that the rest of the people had left to get more supplies, but from what you just saw in the totes this camp was already well-stocked in food and staples. And people sleeping? No, can't be.


The next tent to your right is also open — but also partly collapsed, as if something fell on it. In the darkness you almost didn't notice it, but there are a pair of legs sticking out of this one.


Do you dare take a closer look? You have to, so you step closer, ever so gingerly. Yep, those are legs — attached to a body that collapsed on its side, a look of horror evident even in the profile of its down-turned face. The shirt is tattered and soaking with blood.


"There are ten people over there. Go on; you can count them if you want."


Holy! You never heard them coming.


You turn and see Gordon and Charlei standing between you and the campfire. Now that they have your attention, they both turn on their headlamps, making it impossible to look directly at them.


"The cook and the guide got away," Gordon continues. "They took the boat with them, which was what we really wanted."


"We like your boat, though," Charlei says. "That little dinghy we found wasn't going to be enough to get us out into the shipping lanes. It almost tipped over while we were fishing with it today."


Their voices are even and measured, almost chilling in their calmness. It's clear now you had been played this evening by the campfire. Now your only way out of this is to see if you can find some way to be useful to your "friends".


"So you guys are after the Stone of Vul-Kar, too?" you say, trying your best to suppress all signs of fear from your voice. It isn't easy.


"Of course, silly," Charlei says. "We're trapped in student loan debt, and at the rate we're going we won't be able to afford a house until we're in our fifties. All we want is to stand on our own two feet. So the way we see it, our options are to either win the lottery — lame! — or take matters into our own hands."


"Let me help you!" you say. "I'm good at this. We can head up the mountain first thing in the morning. I—"


"You've already sold the stone to some wealthy collector!" Gordon says. "You're just a mercenary, hired by the One Percent to do their bidding. We don't need your help."


"It's a pity your code of honor or whatever doesn't allow you to carry a weapon," Charlei says. "It's better if you carry a gun. Isn't that right, sweetie?"


"That's the way I was raised." As Gordon says this, he raises something long and thin that he had been holding at his side. You hadn't noticed it before in the shadowy light cast by the fire, not to mention the glare of the headlamps, but now you are certain it is a gun pointed straight at you.


"I hate this part!" Charlei says.


"Why don't you head back up to the tent, sweetie. You don't have to watch. It's been a busy day."


"All right, I'll see you up there. Don't be long."


"I love you."


"Love you too!"


Charlei disappears into the darkness, leaving you alone with Gordon. Even as his wife parts company with him, his headlamp beam never moves away from you.


"Gordon. Gordy! I can—" you start to say, but there is a flash of light from his hands. The shot knocks you off your feet, and when you hit the ground you become the eleventh body in the campsite.


THE END