Sweat beaded down Marcus’s face. Not because of the relative heat of Conrad’s office, but because of the relative heat of conversation. Conrad’s fingers tapped slowly along the surface of his desk. One by one they fell and struck the mahogany surface, creating a sound like disconcerting raindrops dripping out of a leaky gutter.

A wedding, a job, and a paranoid man in a shining suit. Tensions rise as our heroes approach the climax of their time aboard the I.S. Lucy. One way or another, things are about to get hairy.