Suddenly, out of the riing mists of the turgid sea, a shadow looms, gliding through the shadowy dawnlight like a killer whale making his morning patrol. Barely visible through the scope, her nose cutting through the spray like a sharks pectoral, the golden letters on her bow read bright and far, Schooner Mudcat. Quiet orders are passed and with a rattle of tackle and line, the bold fast moving schooner swings to the wind, passing below the bluff squat bow to The Shatner? with only yards to spare, swing around to a parallel track heading toward her swollen ungainly stern. Another order faintly heard through the thinning mist and with a sudden clatter, twenty ports are run back, twnety ugly snouts run out, and twenty matches touched to the fuse. With a shattering roar, a broadside at lethal range sweeps the ungainly ship, and the Shatner's seams are opened in a fell swoop to the hungry, curious, invading sea. She staggers in the water, all way lost, sets back on her stern, leans and shudders as the waves creep higher on her settling flanks. In moments, the schooner has vanished into the mists astern, and the poor, shattered fatboat is awash to her decks, her company scrambling for lifeboats, rafts, and large dining room tables in a desperate effort to survice.

She stalls and shudders in the tide, and the white foam licks her bridge cabin, her ladders, her radar post, and finally her flying bridge. With a final dying tilt, she rolls to the deep and falls toward the bottom. The pale face of her owner, jammed behind the wheel in the bridge, vanishes in the green glimmer of the closing waters. Then she is gone. The schooner's wake subsides, and all is at peace upon the waters.