...As the plodding machine neared, on its way back to some Costa Preto Ancient Keepers shipyard presumably, its pilot became much more discernible, practically fighting to keep the vessel moving in a straight line. A young lass she was, with a shock of golden hair and a serene smile on her face, which from a distance seemed like it might be quite a lovely one. Across the greasy bow of the ship were a collection of fishing gear, and a bucket glinting in the rapidly fading sunlight. She was fishing and it looked like she'd had some success as she dropped from the steering wheel for a moment to inspect a fat, wet fish still flopping in her bucket. Knowing his passion for the fairer sex, I noted to my pilot that there might be some quite exquisite cargo on the odd monstrosity to our north...