You were adrift on a large piece of hull plating, the late afternoon sun warm on your back. The adrenaline had bled away, leaving a deep, bone-aching tiredness in its place.

Seeking something solid, something soft, you shifted and leaned into the familiar, fluffy bulk of Bepo. The polar bear mink, equally spent, gave a low, rumbling hum of contentment and wrapped his large, padded paws around you, pulling you into a warm, furry embrace.

From a separate, larger piece of flotsam a short distance away, a pair of gold-rimmed eyes watched from under the brim of a white spotted hat.

A faint, entirely unwelcome heat prickles at the back of his neck. He adjusts his hat, pulling the brim lower.