Stowaway

Mike O'Malley winced as the foghorn wailed right above him - the grizzled Irish cook now sorely regretted the long discussion he did have with his old friend Jim Beam yesterday night ...

It was 4AM and he needed to get the breakfast ready for the crew of the "Prince of Persia", a slightly dubious freighter headed for Paragon City once more. In its hull it carried a couple of secret compartements for goods the crew didn't want to trouble customs with.

Upon arriving in the galley he discovered that someone had decided to steal the ham for the morning's breakfast for a large late night snack.

Uttering a swarm of curses he stepped into the large freezer and picked up a large piece of meat to defrost it - it would have to be ...

His train of thought came to a grinding halt, when he saw what had been under the side of ham - he stared in horror right into the face of a child ... under a coating ice. The boy seemed to be peacefully asleep - but Mike knew that falling asleep in a freezer could mean only one thing ... an untimely death!

"Stupid lad!" he cursed while tears burned in his eyes. "What kind of moron hides himseld in a freezer, eh? What the HELL were you ..."

Words failed him when the boy suddenly opened his eyes, smiled and put a finger on his lips: "Shhhhh!" - upon which the burly Irish sailor simply fainted.

When he came to, he was lying on the kitchen bench and he had a terrible headache! Damn hangovers - for the millionst time he decided to quit drinking! It must have been a hallucination, a bit stranger than white mice, but still ...
At this point in time, the hallucination handed him a glas of whisky - nearly causing him to faint again.

In the nice warm galley, the kid seemed to be perfectly normal, just his hair was unusual - glowing white it resembled nothing more than snow under a winter sun.

Quickly it became obvious that the boy didn't seem to speak a word of English, nor any other of the languages spoken on board.

Because of his helpful and friendly nature and - probably more importantly - the fact that he didn't seem to understand a single word that was said, the boy became the ship's mascott. Of course he was expected to help Mike with the cooking, which he did without complaints.

Upon arrival in Paragon City a very close call with the custom's officers persuaded Mike that it was time to end his smuggling days - he took his leave and also the strange boy with him.

The two of them were just taking one of the small alleys when a group of thugs with - rather campy looking - skull masks blocked their path. Mike knew those jokers, the Skulls, a vicious streetgang into pretty much all sorts of crime.

They seemed to be in a rather sour mood - maybe they did have to run from a superhero or they had come second in a gangwar. So Mike knew it would be a fight ... and he didn't fancy his chances against a group of five angry young punks.

Protectively he wanted to pull the kid behind his back - but the lad wouldn't budge. When he looked down, he realized that he also didn't seem to be scared at all.

The boy's deep blue eyes were dancing with an icy blue light and his hair seemed to gleam in the gloom of the alley.

Then everything happened very fast - one of the thugs swung his baseball bat at Mike, but from one moment to the next the punk was encased in a block of ice, unable to move.

"Another mask - run for it!", screamed his companions and scuttled off ... pushed by a gust of wind the lad sent after them.

Then he turned around and grinned - his blue eyes sparkling - and exclaimed in a musical voice: "That was so ... coool!"

It was perhaps due to shock and relief that the old man couldn't help bursting out laughing, even though the pun was overworked and older than him.

His counterpart had not joined into the laughter and seemed indeed a bit puzzled at the reaction.
"So - ye could understand what we said all the time ... why didn't ya say so?", Mike asked him. "And what is yer name?"

"In the beginning I didn't understand a word!", was the calm, response. "I needed the time to learn your language. And when I did understand, it seemed better not to let the sailors know.

As for my name, you can call me Leif ... but the criminals in this city will soon fear the name Kid Aurora!

And now - can we go to a chippies' - I'm starving ..."