Sinclair Foran looked across at a young Joseph Baxtor who was getting out of his hammock on the berth deck. The young man looked back at him and said, “I don’t think we’ve formally met. I’m Joseph Baxtor.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Baxtor,” said Sinclair Foran. “I’m Sinclair Foran, ship’s healer.”

“I thought healer Morgan was the ship’s healer,” asked Joseph Baxtor.

“Technically…he’s my assistant,” said healer Foran.

Pulling together his gear, Joseph Baxtor asked, “Are you coming ashore with us?”

“I believe I am,” said Sinclair Foran, walking along with Joseph Baxtor as the landing party prepared to leave their ship the Medusa.

As they rowed into shore, Joseph Baxtor seemed unperturbed by Sinclair Foran passing through the other men in the expedition and no one else seeing him. As a deckhand, Joseph Baxtor was assigned to carry provisions for the landing party. Unloading the gear, the landing party settled into the shelters at the landing site.

“So, what are we doing here?” Sinclair Foran asked Joseph Baxtor.

“This culture has been reluctant to accept Mytar. The priests have been working here for a year, but the devotion isn’t where they expect it to be. We’re here to encourage the faith,” said the very young Joseph Baxtor.

“What does ‘encourage the faith’ mean?” asked Healer Foran, with concern.

“They didn’t tell me, but I’m expecting that it will be testimonials, telling the locals how much Mytar means to us, how happy we are to live in a community devoted to him, that sort of thing,” said deckhand Baxtor.

“Really?” said Sinclair doubtfully. “Listen, I want to remind you that you’re not a deckhand. You’re Joseph Baxtor, captain of the Phoenix. A cowardly Gegmun assassin attacked you and you’re falling backwards in time, through the moments of regret in your life. We need to avert the regret we’re approaching to release you from the ‘time dagger’ that’s in your chest in the infirmary. I’ll help you, but when we find that we’re approaching the moment of crisis, you need to listen to me and don’t follow your instincts.”

Looking at the healer, Joseph Baxtor chuckled and waved him away. “Whatever you brought to drink is stronger than the grog! Don’t let the third captain catch you this drunk.”

The scene shifted around them, and they were in a village square. A member of the team of priests who had been working on conversions in the area was preaching, in the local language, in the square. A number of locals were heckling the priest. Although they were speaking another language, their meaning and demeanor were clear.

Looking at the landing party, the priest nodded to the agitators. “Let’s go men,” ordered the third captain.

Spreading out, the marines drew thin metal clubs instead of their rapiers. The hecklers were focused on the priest and only a few of them noticed the approaching marines. As the ones who had noticed tried to get the attention of the others, the Pantheon marines fell onto the locals and began beating them.

“This isn’t right,” said Sinclair Foran. Looking around him, the other locals began shouting and crying. The priest raised his voice and continued with the sermon, as the marines moved through the crowd administering beatings indiscriminately.

“This should put them in the mood to pay attention, lads,” said the third captain. “Keep it up!”

Horrified, Sinclair Foran saw one marine club a 12-year-old boy in the head. The youngster fell over, unconscious.

“You have to stop this,” he said to Joseph Baxtor.

“Stop it?” asked the future captain. “How could I possibly do that?”

The scene shifts to a few days later. The crowd listened attentively, nursing injuries. Most members of the crowd had visible bruises or black eyes and the marines oversaw the proceedings, ready to intervene. As the priest finished up, the locals began to quietly disperse.

Approaching the men, the priest announced, “Very well done, I can feel improvement in the progress we’re making already. I’m buying all of you some drinks at the pub.”

The assembled men gave a cheer. The priest clarified, “Well, I’ll encourage the bar owner to provide you drinks on the house. I don’t see him refusing.”

The scene shifted to a crowd in another village listening to another priest before receiving a beating, then another crowd in another village, then another, and another, and another.

Sinclair Foran stood with Joseph Baxtor watching what was becoming a familiar scene. A priest was delivering a sermon and some locals were shouting back at him. The third captain approached the deckhand.

“Joseph, son. I’ve been impressed with your ship knowledge and how hard you’ve worked after we made landfall. I’m going to rate you acceptable in the next crew evaluation. The lads here have gone above and beyond advancing Mytar’s glory. I’m going to give all of them a special commendation for being willing to get their hands dirty and do what needs to be done.”

“Yes, sir,” said Joseph, looking at the third captain uncertainly.

“I’ve seen the look on your face during these proceedings and I’m not sure if you’re the kind of man who is willing to get their hands dirty and do what needs to be done,” said the third captain. He handed the young deckhand a club.

The marines were fanning out and beginning their standard attack, starting with the agitators, then moving on to the rest of the villagers. The third captain nodded at the assembled crowd.

“Don’t do it, sir,” said Sinclair Foran. “This isn’t right. You’re not the kind of man who would do this.”

With a shrug to the healer, Joseph Baxtor advanced one of the villagers who was hanging back from the crowd, watching what was happening with a lack of comprehension. As he saw Baxtor advancing on him, he began backing away, holding his hands up and pleading in the local language.

He cringed away from the deckhand as Joseph Baxtor’s club came down on the man, knocking him to the ground, then beating him where he fell, tightened into a ball to try to protect himself.

On the Phoenix, Sinclair Foran collapsed to the ground unconscious. A look of mute horror twisted the captain’s face.

“What do we do?” Adam Hudson asked.

“You tell me, you’re the elementalist,” answered Henry Cook.

“We were supposed to take command of the ship and return to homeport,” said Adam Hudson.

“Well, forget that,” said Henry Cook, taking the captain’s hand.

“Let’s try to finish this with both of us,” said Adam Hudson, taking the captain’s other hand.

The two young men found themselves in the past.