<div class="floatright">(http://static.desktopnexus.com/thumbnails/739728-bigthumbnail.jpg)<strong><br/>   Ophelia Rockefeller<br/>   In the engine room<br/>   Trying to repair the engine<br/><br/></strong></div>Ophelia was busy in the engine room. She had been trying to restart the damned machine for most of the last three days, after checking every system she could think of. Although she had tried to hide it to her friends, she knew that if the yacht could not start moving again, there was little chance they would be found and saved. She could not understand what was wrong. Maybe some bug in the electronic devices that were controlling so many parts.<br/><br/>The compartment was hot and greasy, and so was Ophelia Rockfeller, sweaty with her long red mane plastered against her face. She was wearing oil-stained white shorts, a greasy tank-top that left most of her midriff uncovered, the skipper hat she traditionally wore at sea, with the little insign of the submariners pinned on its front, and a pair of tongs on her feet.<br/><br/>She made a new attempt and cursed as the engine remained silent. And then she heard Eloise calling her name.<em>What the hell is happening now? Can they not remain calm and refrain from touching everything?</em>Still, there was some urgency in her friend's voice that decided Ophelia to climb out of her pit.<br/><br/>She emerged on the deck, blinking in the bright sun and brushing the sweat from her forehead.<br/><br/><strong>"What the hell is it again..."</strong>she began but stopped short as she saw several men on board. She could not believe it. They were being rescued!<br/><br/>Forgetting how filthy she was, she walked to the black man who seemed to be the chief.<br/><br/><strong>"Welcome on board, Sir. I am Ophelia Rockfeller, skipper of the Queen of the Caraibs. I'm afraid I can't save my engine. Could you please tug us to the nearest port?" </strong>