In the pilot house, the navigational computer was dark, the manual wheel spinning wildly with each wave. Lying in the hatchway leading to the chart room aft of the bridge were the charred remains of the captain and her XO, their weapons baked into the black bones of their ashen hands. And hiding under the captain’s desk was a dead ork cook with most of his chest missing, a score of round holes from the point-black shotgun blast riddling the antique cherry-wood. His brown-stained fingers were splayed wide from the shock of his violent demise. However, hidden behind the turning corpse was a single word painted on the desk from the wide stream of blood from the two fire-charred merchant officers.