AUTHOR'S NOTES

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DISCLAIMER: I don't own Treasure Planet, its characters, the ideas behind the cancelled sequel, and the songs or references mentioned in the story, but everything else, how I incorporated my ideas into the sequel's original concept, belongs to me.

SUMMARY

After the voyage to Flint's trove, Jim Hawkins continues his journey from where he left off starting with his admission to the Royal Interstellar Academy. The rough Etherium waves don't stop there, especially when he realize that his visit to Treasure Planet has only prepared him for an even bigger adventure.

PROLOGUE

The foggy planet Galatea, a place ran by the shady lot of the galaxy, its air misting with the scent of astrobarnacles left too long under the sun and of the sweat from spacers who had a little too much to drink. At the west wharf sat old man Herb Ruskin's tavern where people from different walks of life gathered to have their ale delivered and be waited on by barmaids who could just get a bit frisky. If it meant earning a little more than intended, then there was no harm in attending to a little 'extra service' as far as the management was concerned.

Ruel Wiggins sat at the small table at the farthest corner of the room, drinking a bottle of ale and blowing rings on his smoking pipe while his eyes rummaged throughout the place. None interested him so far; just a mess of people, most of whom he already recognized as frequent customers.

At the bar sat a ship crew, drinking and laughing with their mouths full of Solara seeds. One table had a man immersed in telling stories to his shipmates that he hardly noticed they were paying more attention to the waitress he invited over to sit on his lap. Another table had a card game taking place with noticeable bets placed on the table: coins of various monetary value, a large gold ring, several Solarium crystals scattered all over, and a sack of gray dust which he hoped to be just plain gunpowder. Sick of the scenery, the fisherman turned away and coughed, downing the remainder of his bitter ale and adjusting the harpoon gun that leaned against his chair.

Setting his drink down, a figure approached and pulled a seat in front of him. Wiggins looked up and saw a blue coat with four gold stripes on its sleeves, carrying a fabric-lined metal canister that slung on his left shoulder. The old man's rat-like ears perked up and a grin crawled all the way to his face when he knew who it was.

Once the stranger had settled down, Wiggins blew a surely smoke ring at him and pulled his seat closer to the table. "Didn't expect ye'd be back so soon."

"Neither did I, Wiggins," the stranger smartly replied, taking off his hat to reveal the face of a young man who was around his twenties. "But since you said you have something good for me, I might as well get back at you fast."

"This little pastime of yers will be the death of ya, Captain Terrence Hatford. Yer bosses be catchin' ya and sendin' ya yer one-way ticket to the gallows," the old spacer guffawed.

"That aside," said the young man, clearing his throat from the morbid thought that chilled him mildly. "Perhaps you'll love what I have here with me."

"Very well, let's see it."

"A blueprint of a newly designed ship," he introduced with confidence, placing the canister containing the blueprint roll on the table. "A prototype of it anyway, was ordered to dispose of it."

"So, what's so great 'bout this here ship?"

"It's said that it will be the fastest ship to ever sail the Etherium. The prototype doesn't show much in detail but the design sort of gives it away."

"I see. Anythin' else?" asked Wiggins who pushed the package away from him and shook the ashes out of his smoking pipe. "I'm a fisherman, boy, though not a decent one. Speedy boats ain't fer the likes of me."

"This was the best that I could offer. I thought it might at least catch your eye a bit."

"Not to me, it ain't. But to some, it just might be the case," he warned. He then looked over Hatford's shoulder to make sure if anyone was eavesdropping on them. "So if I were ye, I'd get this all over with."

The captain then pulled out something else from his pocket and held it in the air and bargained. "Maybe I'll make it up to you if I throw in a few drabloons?" he asked with a toss of the small sack on the table, a couple of gold coins spilling out.

As he eyed the loot, the man pondered for a bit. "Sounds like a deal, but I won't settle meself fer a chinwag of some ship and a mere dollop of coins. Perhaps ye could give a little more."

"Take it or leave it, Wiggins. I gave my share, now it's your turn."

He said nothing, however, and waved a finger in front of him. His mouth curved to a toothy grin instead and reached an open hand to the young man, goading for more.

Giving in to his extortion, the captain unhappily reached in an inner pocket of his coat and tossed in another sack of drabloons. He had set that set aside for plans on buying new sails for his ship and now he had every right to be miserable to have given it up. "This better be good," was all that he hoped for what the old fisherman had for him.

His needs met, Wiggins grabbed the bags of coins with a smirk and stowed it in his drawstring sack. "Ye have yerself a deal."

"What do you have?"

"Surely, ye've heard 'bout an explosion less than a parsec away from Cresentia."

"I'm aware of it. Heard it faintly from the spaceport but I don't think anyone else did at the time. My superiors said it was probably the detonation of a large incoming meteor."

"Well, some spoke of a similar explosion that took place at the farthest edge of the galaxy. The only difference to the tale is it's said to be a planet that blew up. That's right, a magnitude the size of an entire planet. No one knows how it even reached the spaceport when it would've taken months."

"How's that possible?" marveled Hatford. "It's just unimaginable to even think of detonating an entire planet, and I recall Montressor is the nearest neighboring one around Cresentia. There's just no other planet within that proximity."

"But that's just the beginning. I also heard from other fishers 'bout loot fallin' from the sky at me hometown, just after the explosion. Drabloons and jewels flyin' and scatterin' here and there, and mates of mine told me of treasure gettin' caught in their fishin' nets."

"Loot that came from the destruction of a planet?"

"Then I checked on me net one mornin' and saw this shiny old thing." His wrinkled and calloused hand reached in his sack and placed a small parcel on the table. He unwrapped it and revealed an orb that seemed to be made of gold alloy, chipped and burned, and missing a few small pieces as if it came from the very explosion they were talking about. Hatford noted that it was surprisingly lightweight and had markings that could be pressed, cranked and turned like a puzzle box.

"What is it?" was the first question that popped in his mind as he inspected in every angle the small gizmo in his hand.

"Dunno, but it's not like I have anythin' to do with it. Kept fiddlin' with it here and there but zilch, ain't nothin' happenin'. It ain't even good paper weight since it'll be rollin' all over the place."

With a certain glimmer in his set of blue eyes, he declared. "Perhaps I could show this to the higher-ups, then they might find someone who could get it to work."

Wiggins leaned back on his seat, a satisfied look on his face, and kicked up a pair of booted feet on the table. "Like anyone would take a shine to that thing. Ye could get flak fer thinkin' ye've been sendin' 'em garbage."

The captain replied and smirked at his companion's remark. "Won't hurt me to try."

The two walked out of the tavern to the docks after their negotiation, where their respective ships were parked. Even when he was drawing near his downtrodden vessel, Hatford was still pressing on the small circular marks on the chunk of metal he held in his hands in an attempt to make it work but none of his efforts paid off.

Eyeing his companion who was walking a couple of steps ahead of him, Wiggins couldn't help but want to reprimand the young spacer for his recklessness. Hatford was a Navy man, a captain at that. He had just graduated from Naval academy about a year ago, that was what he recalled when the tale suddenly slipped from the young spacer's tongue during one of their exchanges. So far, his bosses haven't heard anything about him getting in deep trouble, especially for doing shady trades like most of the ones they had. It wasn't that Wiggins wanted them to end. Most of the prizes and information he received from Hatford either amounted to something or were a gag and worth a couple bottles of ale.

He was aware enough that one day, the big guns would find all out about Hatford's misadventures and it might not go well on the young man's end. He could get charged a fine, get thrown to prison or worse, be hung for possible accusations of treason.

Wiggins was aware that he himself wasn't among the most honorable fishermen in the whole Etherium. He has already done a few similar negotiations back in his early days and had a few run-ins with the law. Not exactly a suitable role model to begin with but somehow, Hatford still chose him as his primary source of underground intel. And the young man was a Royal Navy captain, for goodness sake!

"Seriously, boy," he grumbled and broke the silence between them. "Ye've a big future above yer head and the makings in the world. It'd be a waste to throw all that in the gutter and spend yer days dilly-dallyin' in these sorts."

"I know, I know," the lad groaned like he was being told by his parents, tossing the sphere back and forth in his hands. "I figured I might as well have a little fun while I haven't come across on any of the more serious stuff yet."

"A little fun, my arse. Had yer old men find out that I'm caught into this crazy fad of yers, I'm not gonna have a word in it!"

Noticing the change in the tone of his voice, his younger companion queried. "Why so concerned, Wiggins?"

"I ain't concerned, ya whelp. More or less, I'd hate to think all that wasted potential of yers is gonna keep me up at night."

"Ah, I see... So you are worried." For a few seconds, he waited for a reply but the graying fisherman just walked on and spoke not a word. "That's my concern, Wiggins. Not yours, so don't go beating yourself up over an odd one out like me. Maybe odd two out if JD counts, but he just kinda puts up with all my crap."

Wiggins understood what the young man meant but breathed out an exasperated sigh. "But there be plans on givin' up this guile leisure of yers one day?"

"Maybe. When I get my big break, whenever that will be. Sad to say, you probably won't be hearing from me in a long time when that time comes."

He pulled his pipe out from his lips that pulled into a straight line, and blew a handful of smoke. "I'd hate to break it to ya, lad. But I can't wait fer that day to happen."

From behind them, quick footsteps began to thump on the dock right to their path. It became louder and louder until a man having the features of a capuchin suddenly grabbed the gizmo from Hatford's hands and hurriedly darted away from the two.

"The sphere!"

"Ah, I thought that scalawag was listenin' in on us." Wiggins then slid down the harpoon gun that slung behind his arm and handed it to his companion. "Here."

Hatford wasted no time and grabbed the weapon, rushing to where the thief was. On his way, the pink-faced man knocked down a few empty barrels behind him to slow his pursuer down but Hatford just easily vaulted on them. The robber then made a turn to a street and weaved through a marketplace. The young captain, however, decided not to pass through the dense crowd and made a detour instead, tramping on alleys with not a nick of people in sight and climbing on buttresses. Jumping back on barren soil, he got back to the chase but could barely catch up with the felon who was a few feet ahead of him.

"Dang it!"

Seeing no other choice, he shot the only loaded harpoon at the crook, catching it by the shirt and pinning it to a wooden wall. Hatford then dashed to his target, grabbed the sphere from a pair of filthy hands and hightailed out of the scene. Ripping the fabric off of the metal that held him, the capuchin man pulled the harpoon out from the wall and upon catching up, struck the poor captain on the head with it, the impact causing him to fall on his back.

The thief then struggled to pry the metal orb out from Hatford's hand, throwing punches that the captain blocked with his other arm. He then grabbed the arm that shielded the young man and rolled to go below him and kicked him on the groin. In pain, Hatford fell on his side and the crook instead got hold of the canister he carried with him. As the young spacer wallowed and held onto his hurting area, the mugger took the chance and quickly darted away from his pursuer.

The captain staggered to get up as he slid the sphere in one of his pockets. He then picked up the discarded harpoon and ran after the pink-faced thug once more, contemplating whether or not he should let the guy slip with the blueprint. He took a detour once more and soon he was back at the wharf, the hoodlum making a run to a pirate ship.

"Take off already, ya scurvy dogs!" the capuchin man yelled as he ran to the vessel edging away from the wharf upon his word. Reaching the end of the port, he jumped aboard and dangled among the shrouds, chuckling as he watched his pursuer from a distance.

Hatford was loading the harpoon back to his weapon when he realized that he had already reached the end of the platform. He stumbled and fell from the edge but his one hand quickly grabbed on a beam that saved him from a bad fall to the sharp rocks beneath it. From there, all he saw was the pirate vessel sailing away and disappearing in the thick mist that engulfed the planet.

Defeated, he cussed under his breath. "Drat, lost him!"

"Oi! Ya need some help there, boy?" Wiggins called out, running to him when suddenly Hatford's ship, the RLS Myrtle, veered to where he dangled.

"That's okay. I got him," spoke a man on board, stepping on the starboard side, and threw a rope to the captain.

"You came just in the nick of time, JD!" he thanked as he shifted his weight on the rope to be pulled up by the black-haired spacer. "At least that's what a spaceport dame once said."

The man, JD, glared at him, his tawny eyes so bright behind a pair of rectangular eyeglasses. "Oh, just can it, will you?! You're one-liners isn't making any of this easier for me!"

"Right, right, but she did mention that," he mumbled, mostly to himself out of caution that his companion might hear him and carry on with his complaints.

Stepping on the deck, he bid farewell to the fisherman with a tip of his hat, tossing the harpoon gun back to its owner who readily caught it. "See you 'round, Wiggins."

"Pleasure doin' business with ya as always," he saluted back as he tucked the weapon behind his arm.

The Myrtle's only two passengers took their posts at the bridge and finally swerved the ship away from the docks on its way out of Galatea, going back to the waves of the Etherium once more.

"I swear one day, all this cleaning up after you will be the death of me," JD commented, two of his hands steering the helm.

With a snicker and a tease, Hatford grabbed him by his shoulders and shook him. "I know, I get that a lot but where would I be without my first mate?"

"Probably dead by now. Dead as this forsaken ship would've been."

"Cheer up, will you? All that frowning will do a number on your pretty face, and Betty won't be seeing you in the same way by the time we get back at the spaceport if you hold that up."

"And I get that a lot, too, but do I even care?"

"You should. You've no idea of the sticky stares barmaids and doxies throw at you. And you, of all people, won't even bat an eye!"

JD, sensing the incoming comments on his looks that made him the slightest bit uninterested, let out a long and annoyed sigh. "Because it's not important."

"Of course it's not to you but if I were in your shoes, I'd flaunt all I want." And he would do just that without fail. But upon saying those words, Hatford sensed just a hint of déjà vu in them that just made him cross his arms and shudder. "Now I know what Wiggins was talking about."

"Pardon?"

"Nothing."

"Anyway," the first mate spoke, in hopes of changing the topic. "How did the trade go? I assume the prize is as good as what Wiggins promised you?"

"Heck yeah, it is. Wiggins turned down the blueprint when I offered it to him so I made some last minute 'adjustments', then some wretched goon just snatched the deal away from me on the wharf. Took chase, got it back, and never felt more liberated in my life."

"And the blueprint's with Wiggins now?"

"Same guy who pinched on the prize kinda took the blueprint in its place."

"Wait—you lost it to some scum?!"

"Hey, I was told to get rid of it, wasn't I? So I did, more or less. Even though it wasn't the way I planned, it's not like they'll find anything useful from it anyway. Besides, I'm doing ourselves a favor and actually got something out of all that." He then pulled out the contraption in his pocket and tossed it to the man behind the helm who caught it in one hand.

"A metal sphere," JD inspected. "Lightweight material, probably bronzium, weighs below three hundred fifty grams, covered in patterns and got ashes in between nooks and crannies."

Smirking, his captain winked at him. "I love it when you do that analysis-thing."

"Wiggins told you anything more about it?"

"My friend..." He paused and made an adjustment of his hat, turning a confident smile to the stars. "You will never believe what I just heard."

"You mangy mutt!" a colossal boatswain erupted, delivering a punch to the capuchin man's face with his meaty fist as the rest of the ship's crew witnessed the scene. "Thought you'd be coming back with our ale then you get yourself into some grating mischief!"

The thief cautiously faced him, a hand touching a cheek that was starting to bruise. "Fergive me, Huggus. Please speak not a word of this to the cap'n."

"And what have you got there, you sniveling runt!" he inquired, pulling the canister from his shipmate's arm. He unfurled it and the cobalt blue paper revealed the outline of a rather peculiar-looking ship. "What is this?"

"It's a chart of a ship."

"You'd waste a keg of ale over some blasted ship?!"

"Huggus," a voice spoke from behind them that quickly stopped the pot-bellied bloke from making any further reprimands. A tall lean man stepped to them, garbed in a blue long coat with a few visible stitching done on its tears. "If this thing is something of value to Quibble, then we must absolutely hear from him first."

"Thank ye, Cap'n," the thief peeped. But in the blink of an eye, it was as if the captain had a sudden change of heart and gave the little man an even harder hit, a heavy knee colliding with his side that made him curl up in pain.

"That is for looting something without my permission," resonated his low guttural voice in anger, but soon calmed down the instant he continued his queries. "So tell me, Quibble. Would you like to share with the rest of the crew about your venture?"

"Aye," he winced, holding to an even sharper pain beside his stomach as he struggled to get on his feet. "I-It's about a ship."

"I heard, you already said that so don't waste my time and be out with it. What is so valuable about this ship?"

"Ye could see fer yerself, sir."

Without a word, the boatswain held the roll of paper to the captain who took it in a firm grip. His lifeless blue eyes, obscured beneath his hat and a neckerchief that hid the rest of his metallic face, skimmed on the thin material and saw the design of the most unique ship he had ever laid eyes on. In that moment, he knew he had to get his hands on the vessel no matter what it would take. An iron hand skidded on its outline and at the very top of the page, a lone finger traced the lettering of its name: RLS Centurion.