The young man who shakily accepted the steel cup filled with whiskey was a mutant whose appearance set him apart from ordinary people.
He had shark-like gills on his face, allowing him to breathe underwater—a useful ability when it came to tracking king crabs. However, his mutation wasn't without its flaws. While he could breathe underwater, he was just as susceptible to hypothermia in the Bering Sea as anyone else. He was fine while submerged, but if he didn't dry off quickly after surfacing, things could become dangerous.
Moreover, after going into the sea, reboarding the ship in such treacherous conditions was no easy task. These challenges limited his usefulness during operations.
So during the actual voyage, the crew still relied primarily on Captain Old George's experience to locate crab populations. The young mutant was only sent into the water as a last resort—when they hadn't found any crab traces for a long time.
Over the past five days, the mutant had only gone into the water twice.
Perhaps due to his mutation, his physique and strength were slightly weaker than the average Caucasian male. This placed him in an awkward position aboard the crab boat—useful, yet not entirely dependable.
When asked about discrimination against mutants on the ship, Old George had once said, "With the current labor shortage, as long as you've got hands, you're welcome—mutant or not. Just don't snack on the crew if you get hungry out at sea, and you're good."
As he put it, "When everyone's on the same boat, discrimination isn't really an issue—unless someone acts reckless and ends up thrown overboard during a storm. In that case, they can only blame their own bad luck."
An accidental brush with death had left the young mutant shaken. He held the steel cup of whiskey for over twenty minutes before he fully recovered and rejoined the crab-catching operation.
No one blamed him for taking time to rest. After all, surviving a near-death experience wasn't something you simply brushed off. Everyone understood that recovery takes time.
Henry, on the other hand, returned to work after downing a glass of whiskey. After five days of high-intensity work, the crew had developed an unspoken understanding. They didn't need to shout directions anymore—a simple glance or nod was enough to communicate.
The success of this crab-catching trip was largely due to the unexpectedly significant contribution of "Little Green." Though he didn't stand out at the time, everyone realized afterward how precise and well-timed his actions had been. His cooperation saved valuable time and improved the crew's efficiency.
On the morning of the sixth day, the Annie II returned to port safely. They didn't manage to catch all the crabs in the last area, but the cabin was already full, so they had no choice but to return.
There were dedicated berths for unloading at the port. Once crab season started, representatives from fishing companies would station themselves at the docks 24/7, waiting to buy fresh catches. Larger fishing ports held daily auctions, similar to those for black tuna. But in smaller ports like theirs, negotiations happened directly on the dock.
Arriving at port didn't mean the work was done. The crew still had to move the crabs from the cabin, sort and weigh them.
At this point, Old George would start negotiating prices with several fishing companies he was familiar with. Typically, after examining the first few baskets of crabs, buyers could estimate the quality and offer a lump-sum price for the whole ship. The winning bidder would stay to complete the deal, waiting for the final total weight.
Once the weighing concluded, the fishing company would immediately issue a check to the shipowner or captain.
After the transaction, and once the boat was docked for rest, it was finally time for the crew to receive their wages.
Most crew members received a fixed salary, agreed upon before boarding. A few seasoned veterans also received commissions based on the harvest. If the captain wasn't the shipowner, he would receive a salary or a percentage cut as well.
These commissions were meant to motivate the experienced crew members. In most cases, the success of a voyage depended heavily on their performance.
As the greenest rookie on board, Henry was naturally the last to get paid. Watching the satisfied smiles on everyone's faces ahead of him, he knew that Old George wasn't stingy with his payouts.
Even the young mutant tapped his check with his finger and declared he'd treat everyone to drinks at the bar.
When Henry received his check, he was stunned by the number. "Boss, did you make a mistake?" he asked in disbelief.
Old George knew exactly what he was doing. "Kid, that's what you earned," he replied. "I saw the broken rope. It was due to aging. I should've caught that during the equipment check."
"So not only did you clean up my mistake, but you also saved that kid's arm. The bonus I gave you is still less than what the insurance company would've charged me if I'd screwed up. So just take it."
"What? I missed the chance to get insurance money?" the mutant exclaimed excitedly.
He immediately got smacked on the back of the head by a nearby veteran. "Do you want insurance money or do you want your arm?"
Realizing the trade-off, the mutant hugged his injured arm with a sheepish grin. "I'll keep the arm. The arm's good."
Henry shook his own check with a smile and said, "Thanks, boss."
No one mentioned the exact amounts they received, but Henry quietly used his powers to check the numbers on everyone's checks. Unsurprisingly, his check matched the mutant's in value—the lowest among the crew.
Still, for a first-timer like "Little Green," the amount was generous. He had no reason to complain.
With money in their pockets, the men naturally began discussing how they'd celebrate. Some who had families in town planned to go home and sleep for three days straight.
Old George, who used to party hard before setting sail—just in case he didn't make it back—felt differently now. Having returned safely and with money in hand, he just wanted to go home. He didn't join the younger men for drinks.
But when he noticed that Henry hadn't left either and seemed to be waiting, it reminded him of the kid's situation.
"You don't have a car, do you?" Old George asked. "Come with me. I'll find someone to drive you back to Old John's bar. If you want to cash that check, I can take you to the bank too."
"Boss, I just wanted to ask—do I still have a chance to get on the boat again? I want to make money."
To others, crab fishing might be dangerous and exhausting—as Old John and many seasoned sailors often said. But for Henry, it wasn't so bad.
Even during the most grueling shifts, as long as he could soak in a bit of sunlight, he felt endlessly energized. The fatigue didn't really affect him.
He understood how important money was in modern society. And the pay from working on a crab boat was not only legal but good.
So, when there was a chance to earn more, why wouldn't he take it?
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