"Xena, wake up! There's an ominous looking boat following us."

Gabrielle's words swirl around in my head, pulling me out of a deep sleep. I feel the Chiken's leisurely roll as we glide along downwind ... so peaceful and quiet. Boat...following. Boat following? I snap awake. Damn!

I scramble up the companionway into the cockpit. The South China Sea is a calm, deep, open ocean blue. Fluffy white clouds float above. Gabrielle stands at the teak-rimmed steering wheel. The yellow-brown sails soar aloft, barely filled with the light wind. Still groggy, I almost quip "Such a lovely day." Not at all what one would say before being attacked by pirates.

And then I see it: a huge, black ugly Junk is bearing down on us, its bow foam scarcely 100 meters astern. It shimmers with cut-out clarity in the crisp morning air: all 70 feet of cluttered lines, filth layered gunwales, chaotic fishing gear and 30 young, mean looking Chinese. A stocky man in a black shirt stands on the bow with a coiled line and grappling hook. They look as though they intend to ram us, at the very least.

The utter hopelessness of our position floods my sleepy mind with adrenaline. Unfortunately, since there is no possibility of running, this has the effect of total paralysis. My eyes lock onto the coiled line attached to the grapnel. Slowly, my mind catches up with what my eyes keep trying to show me. The line is old, sun-rotted quarter inch hemp. It won't hold us for a second.

"Gabby, hold your course. Smile and wave."

"Smile and wave?" she gawks at me as I emerge from the aft cabin grinning like an idiot, dancing up and down, yelling, "Ahoy! Hey there!" at the horrifying spectacle of black marauding tonnage bearing down on us. Gabby, eyes filled with doubt, reluctantly waves and manages a weak smile.

This seems to defer the ramming plan as their Junk shudders, slows and turns off on a parallel course about 100 feet away. They've got us. We smile and wave again, and I yell, "Ahoy! We'll be right alongside! Yes, Sir! Just a minute, we'll be right alongside! Here, I'll get a rope for you so you can capture us ..."

"Gabby, keep shouting nicities, anything. They probably don't understand English anyway."

The gang of pirates scream and wave their arms. Some big meaty paws gesture for us to come alongside while other ham-like fists bash the air. I swing down the forward companionway, grab a coil of thick dock line from the sail locker and streak back on deck.

They are right on top of us, shouting and shaking their fists despite Gabby's friendly waving and smiling. I show them the hefty line with my left hand, hide the chakram with my right, all the time muttering, "All right, my nasties. Let's see who will be first to kiss the killing thing.