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   The door slammed open again and the crew looked to see Fleetwood, red in the face, exhorting his terrified crew. "They're still human!" he screamed. "They will still be split by good steel and die like vermin. Get in there and kill them!" Despite his words, his men still appeared undecided on entering the room of the damned.

   "I will lead the way," shouted Fleetwood, finally realizing that a direct example was required. "Follow me!" He rushed back into the room, expecting to see that his opponents would be too demoralised by their demonic possession to fight back. Instead, he saw a crew scared but defiant and which looked as always to their respected captain for guidance and leadership.

   "I'll kill you!" screamed Fleetwood, conscious even in his rage that Hartwell had somehow proved to be the better man again. His inferiority complex, nurtured day by day at seeing Hartwell's superb running of both ship and crew in peace and in battle, finally exploded as he saw that even when faced by the powers of Hell, the crew still believed in Hartwell and followed him willingly. He screamed in searing hatred as he bounded forward, swinging his sword.

   Hartwell turned to meet him, suppressing all fear at what was happening to his beloved sister and crew, finding the central point of calm, rational logic and parried Fleetwood's frenzied blows, waiting until his opponent lunged so wildly he threw himself off balance, at which Hartwell impaled Fleetwood through the heart.

   Fleetwood looked down in dumb amazement at the sword piercing his chest. He blubbered in fear and his bowels loosened as his body told his brain that it was split.

   Hartwell pulled the sword backward and Fleetwood, denied the only support keeping him upright, crumpled to the floor. He landed full length, his face smacking off the bare, splintered floorboards, where he stared in astonishment as the light faded from his eyes.

"
hey're demons!" shouted a voice from outside. "They burn with their hands and survive death!"

   Hartwell saw that the rest of Fleetwood's crew, having witnessed the past few minutes, were unwilling to continue the fight without enlisting the help of the patrons of the inn.

   "They have gold!" shouted one of the more devious thugs.

   "And women!" shouted another.

   "And they are damned!" yelled a third. "God shall protect us against them."

   "Kill the demons!"

   "Pray for the demons and let the Lord's light shine upon them," cried a familiar voice. The crew looked through the door and saw Pastor White, clutching his bible.

   "As if things weren't bad enough," muttered Fitch to Susanna.

   "Quickly," shouted Hartwell, looking speculatively at the trembling pastor. "We're leaving. Madrigal, can you summon those lightning bolts again?"

   "I think so, Captain," said Madrigal, looking in a mixture of fear and bewilderment at his fingers.

   "Then blow that wall down," commanded Hartwell, gesturing at the wall around the door.

   Fleetwood's crew looked at Madrigal, looked at the rotting wooden wall and leapt back as Madrigal raised his hands.

   Once again, a series of pulses erupted from Madrigal's hands, making him yell in pain as his fingers burned before immediately healing over. The wall blew backward, spilling Fleetwood's men out over the floor of the balcony and showering them with flaming timber and splinters.

   Hartwell led his crew out. Pandemonium had broken out in the main drinking area of the inn as the room above exploded. Some were screaming, some running, a great many were taking advantage of the confusion to slit a throat or steal a purse, but an ominous silence fell as Hartwell and his crew emerged through the smoking hole.

   "Demons!" they shouted. "Kill the demons!" A roar of approval and encouragement went up from the crowd as they picked up swords and bludgeons and ran to the stairs.

   "That makes it easier," said Hartwell. "No innocent bystanders to worry about. Madrigal, your lightning, please." He gestured as he spoke to the men and women pounding up the staircase toward them.

   Madrigal held out his hands and the power surged through, smashing the mob backward and igniting the wooden stairs. The flames spread astonishingly quickly around the inn, burning brightly and hungrily.

   "Sorry," said Madrigal in answer to Hartwell's eyebrow of admonishment. "I didn't expect it to be that powerful."

   Hartwell looked round and saw that the front of the inn had a large circular window set within it. "This way and somebody bring Lucky Pete," he shouted, leading the crew around the balcony. He paused briefly by the figure of Pastor White. "Are you coming with us, Pastor, or are you going to stay here and burn?"

   White looked at the flames, the dead bodies and Captain Hartwell standing tall in the middle of the chaos and decided the cursed crew of Satan was the lesser evil when compared to staying in the burning inn. He pulled himself upright and staggered after them.

   A few of the denizens were still ready to put up a fight and they stood between the window and the crew. As the crew drew closer, the denizens pulled small crossbows out from under their coats and grinned in anticipation.

   "Let's see your demon powers reach us from this distance," said the leader.

   "Yeah, our arrows will slice you freaks into pieces," snarled another.

   Susanna moved to the front of the crew. "Challenge accepted," she said. She drew her arm back and hurled it forward, as though throwing a ball. The strange whip-like device appeared once more, somehow erupting from within her arm and streaking over the distance before lashing the leader in the face, who yelled in agony and fell back.

   Madrigal simultaneously unleashed more of his lightning, this time controlling the flow more effectively.

   The men screamed as the power hit them and released their arrows, which flew off in random directions.

   "Move," ordered Hartwell, leading his crew to the window. "If you please, Madrigal," he added as they drew closer to the huge circular frame.

   The window erupted outward under Madrigal's improving skill and the crew leapt out onto the front porch. From there, it was a short drop to the ground, where another problem was waiting.

   "I can't see anything," cursed Madrigal. "The moon's gone in and with no street lights, we'll never get back through those alleys to the ship."

   "I think I can lead the way," said Fitch, fear and wonder in his voice.

   "I've never doubted you before, Mister Fitch," said Hartwell, "but it is as black as Hades out here."

   "I know, Captain, but I can see everything around us. It's all tinted red, but I can see."

   "Infrared night vision," said Mechatronic, an explanation which meant nothing at all to the crew.

   "All right, lead us to the harbour, Mister Fitch," said Hartwell. "Everyone hold onto the person in front and don't let go."

   It took Fitch about ten minutes to guide them through the labyrinth of alleys, his footing always certain, the way always clear. Soon, they were back next to the unnamed galleon and had met up with Tench, O'Rourke, Nani and the rest of the crew. A babble of excited voices broke out as explanations and incredulous questions arose from the night's events.

"
hat demon has infected us?" demanded Nani, once the situation had been explained.

   "No, and I am not a demon," replied Mechatronic. "The molecular technology spread out in the ocean where I crash landed. Those who swam through that part of the ocean absorbed the technology, which is simply obeying its core directive to regenerate and upgrade its host. The technology cannot distinguish between one person and another—it will upgrade any who come into direct contact with it."

   "I don't believe your lies!" spat Nani.

   "Enough," said Hartwell. "I do not understand either, but it has happened—we are changed and we must adapt to it. Remember, we are still the same people, we still have the same character and the same sense of morality."

   "So you say," replied Nani, "but we don't know that for sure."