JP/collab from @wanderingwolf, @Psych0Pomp, @Aalakrys, @Xandrya, @Gunther. @Winters. @MK Blitzen, @Yule, @sail3695, and @LuckytheParrot

Rex was startled awake either by the smell of food or the hum of conversation; it was hard to tell which. He almost knocked the cup of cold coffee over as he immediately went into a stretch. Lucky let out a perturbed squawk before retreating to his place under Rex's coat. "What the hell?" He glanced around. "When did this happen?"

“Magic.” Mathias snickered with jazz hands before snagging a plate to load up with food.

Alana tried her best to stifle a laugh even with her mouth full. No doubt the drinks from earlier that day had loosen her up a bit, causing her to find humor in just about anything. She reached for a smaller piece of salmon to give it a try. Truth be told, her taste for seafood wasn’t all there, but she was the adventurous type when it came to food either way. “Glad you could join us; heard you mumbling a whole lotta nothing in your sleep,” she went on matter-of-factly as if such a thing had actually happened.

Penelope was all innocent as she snagged up some more potatoes with the chopsticks she’d traded her spoon out for, for precision. That blanket had been there a while now, but she wasn’t going to own up to it when others were taking it in a different direction.

Cyd giggled at her twin’s response. “Hook the cook,” She put a piece of salmon on her own plate, then one for her brother. “Everything looks kiff, off the track, shot for it.”

Rex rolled his eyes at their passengers. He then felt something tickle the back of his neck. Someone had put a blanket on him. Lucky hadn't said a damn thing, probably relishing the entire debacle. He just grumbled through the fog of sleep and reached for a plate, eyeing the vegetables like an alcoholic eyed a full bottle of gin.

“Help yourself,” Cal said with a full mouth, sliding an empty plate across the table to Rex.

With the table set and everyone digging into the food, Hook considered sitting next to Rex but preferred not to be near the bird. He chose a seat near Cal instead. Although he worked on a farm when he was young and got along well with horses and cows, he just didn’t know the bird. What the hell was it? It spoke and that just didn’t set well with Joe Hooker. He was just a bit uneasy around the bird.

Watching Joe take a seat, Cal set down his chopsticks and cleared his throat. “It’s good most everyone’s here because I promised certain people that I’d let you all in on our next job when I had it set. Tomorrow, we’re lifting off come afternoon to take on four-thousand pounds of tuna. It’ll be all hands-on deck to get it set and strapped, but that means we’re going to have ourselves a mighty fishy trip ahead of us to Greenleaf.” Cal lifted a glass to his lips before continuing. “In order to preserve our catch, we’re going to be flying without temp: we’re turning off atmo for the ship, so it’s gonna get cold.” Captain Strand surveyed the faces across the table from beneath the brim of his hat. “But I got a couple space heaters in storage, and we’ll break out the blankets. My sources say it’ll be about twenty-three degrees, but we’ll see when we get in the black.”

Lesson learnt. Never turn the Doc down when she’s pushin’ pain pills. Abby couldn’t be sure it was really her surgery doin’ tha main hurtin’, seein’s she let her legs git all burned an’ such. Needless tah say they’s none too happy bein’ jammed inta a pair ‘o’ chinos. As Cap’n filled ever’one all in on tha chilly run ahead, she limped in...like an old gramma...and lowered herself all careful like inta tha chair Pen waved her toward. With a quiet ‘thank yew’ fer the pilot, the deckhand set tah work fillin’ her plate as folk passed the dishes her way.

“How long is this trip to Greenleaf?” Hook asked. He was thinking if the trip was too long, the crew would freeze to death, and they wouldn’t need whatever money they earned for the trip. But with space heaters, that might be just enough to take the edge off and make the trip tolerable.

“Near sixteen hours, but maybe Penelope can get us there sooner,” Cal replied.

She glanced over at the pilot as she reached for some water. Alana would have to shop for something to keep her warm unless she wanted to end up an icy treat.

Penelope looked up from her cut of fish at being called on. She’d been figuring in her head, about somethin’ else, but gave a nod in his direction all the same.

“That’s quite a lot to ask folk to put up with sub-freezing temperatures for sixteen hours,” Hook interjected. He knew he could make it. He packed some winter clothing and was prepared to don them if needed. He figured he could always duck into the engine room to absorb some warmth from time to time.

“Well, they’re gonna have to put up with it. No better way to transport four-thousand pounds of tuna without losing a percent to degradation.” Strand shook his head decisively. “I suggest you pick up an extra coat ‘fore we leave shore.” Chopsticks back in hand, Cal took another bite from his plate.

“We need to pick up warmer sleepers,” Cyd said as she pierced her fork into the salmon, nudging her brother. “Especially if we’re gonna doss on the floor.” They had ordered Japanese style bedding to save space.

“If we keep the door closed, we can use the shuttle atmo to stay warm. We can still get some extra warm stuff. Just in case.” Never hurts to be careful after all.

Cyd looked to the captain. “Is that right?” she asked, “shuttle has heat?”

She contemplated for a moment. “If the shuttle will keep heat, we’d be glad to share it with anyone who wants to warm up or even doss...er… sleep,” Cyd offered. She may have looked towards the captain with the invite, but it was completely unintentional, or at the very least subconscious. She shifted her gaze to Pen, Hook and Abby. “Open invite to all,” she added to clarify. They’d make room, and it could be fun. Play some cards, play some music. Oooh! She mused, Karaoke! Rave on.

“Aye, your shuttle has heat; you lucked out on this run.” After that, Cal’s mouth was busy with dinner as the chill he’d forecast settled over the table in the nervous looks among the crew.

Hook decided to focus on eating the salmon. It wasn’t that bad. Another recipe he got from Mrs. McGinnis. Of course, that thought made him think of Penny. He often wondered what happened to her. They did everything together. With the deaths of Mr. and Mrs. McGinnis, Joe assumed Penny and her brother were dead. He thought about Penny often. They were close when he lived on that farm.

Rex poked at the asparagus and potatoes, tending to the food slowly as his stomach would let him. Salmon didn't agitate him like red meat did, but it all bothered him. He raised a brow at Cal's declaration of the temperature drop. "You trying to kill my bird?" He paused. "It isn't going to bump you up in my favorite people standing. I'll replace you with your little clipboard toting clone." He pointed the chopsticks towards the captain accusatory with a smile on his face.

“I was hoping you’d come down with hypothermia and I’d get to keep the bird, but beggars can’t be choosers.” Cal shot a wink Lucky’s way.

JP/collab from @wanderingwolf, @Psych0Pomp, @Aalakrys, @Xandrya, @Gunther. @Winters. @MK Blitzen, @Yule, @sail3695, and @LuckytheParrot

“Engine room,” Abby piped up afore slicin’ salmon with her fork. “Should stay tolerable warm. Keep ‘im in his cage, cause they’s lots ‘o’ movin’.....MMMM!” Her eyes went wide as that first bite landed in her mouth. She give a gesture to Hook afore swallowin’. “This is gorram perfect,” she shook her head. “Wow, Hook! You done spectacklar!”

“I second that, and this coming from someone who doesn’t make seafood her first pick.” Alana took another bite and after a few moments she addressed Abby, though in a lower tone. “I hope you’re feeling better? At least the appetite is there.”

Abby downed a swallow of her drink. “Yes,” she give a nod an’ a smile to tha Doc. “Still a might sore an’ I’m movin’ slower’n molasses on New Kasmir, but I feel good enough tah head inta town.” Soon’s she said it, she thought better of blurtin’ that one out. “If’n yew say it’s shiny, that is.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to turn down that request, little lady. If you need something I can go ahead and fetch it for you as I’m heading out myself one last time, and I’d feel much better if you stayed put. Don’t want to risk it, ya know?” Alana smiled softly, serving up one last small batch of potatoes for herself. She was slightly obsessed with them, so she knew she would be making a request to Hook in the future.

The patient’s face seemed tah fall ‘bout tha same as her shoulders slumped. “Yes’m” she answered tah Doc’s orders in a flat tone.. ‘Course it made sense an’ all, but…aw hell, she finally conjured. Doc spent yesterday diggin’ ‘round my backside. I gotta follow her advice, but...tha mission. Made that promise, too. All glum in her spirits, Abby speared a carrot an’ said “I do got a couple things I could use, if yah don’t mind.”

Isaac trotted up the gangway and up the catwalks towards the galley. He could smell the cooking from the ramp and quickened his pace when he heard the deckhand's approval. That girl didn't seem to like anything, so it had to be good. He popped his head in the galley doorway, ape hanging from the side frame. "Someone mention food?" He grinned as he bobbed his head to get a look at what was left.

“Go on and help yourself Lo. Try to chew your food this time eh?” Mathias teased the youngest Skye.

"Pssh! And waste valuable eating time?" Isaac scoffed, then was immediately distracted. "Ooh! Roasted potatoes!" He said excitedly as he made his way towards the end of the table where the tasty spuds rested, foregoing taking a seat. He snagged what appeared to be an unused fork and stabbed two prize pieces of potato to munch on where he stood.

“I swear at some point he was taught manners … I think.” Mathias shook his head at his brother's antics.

"Oh, so terribly sorry." The younger Skye responded with a piss poor imitation of a rich person's accent as he gave a little bow. "How was everyone's day?" He queried those gathered around the table. Without waiting for a response, something else caught his eye. "I love carrots!" Stab stab went the fork again as he continued noshing, now resting part of his weight with his free hand on the back of one of the chairs.

Penelope giggled at the youngest sibling's enthusiasm. He was just so darn adorable. Between him and Abby, it made her feel quite homesick for her little brothers. Isaac reminded her of Pollux, so exuberant, while Abby was more like Castor in his more literal way of thinking. Hopefully, she'd get to see them soon, since Greenleaf was the next stop.

“He likes your cooking a lot,” Cyd tried to explain apologetically, pulling out the chair next to her while tugging Isaac’s shirt so he’d at least sit. The kid was a cyclone sometimes! She was chomping at the bit to find out about his date, but it was Isaac. His mouth would be full for the next fifteen, twenty minutes easy.

Abby seen firsthand that Little was settlin’ right inta life on a boat...boardin’ house reach an’ ever’thin’, but fer all her thinkin’ he coulda swiped food from her plate without her battin’ an eye. They’s the mission she promised. Any way she sliced it, hadta be her makin’ tha drop. Think like a spy in them books. I gotta make that meetin’, she thunk, Jest got scads harder, seein’s ever’ soul on this boat ‘cept that new passenger heard me gittin’ grounded. What was it Doc didn’t want ‘er to do? Carousin’, most like. No daincin’...but Abby weren’t a daincer, noways. Prob’ly no big walkin’ about’s tha big reason. But It’s fer true Doc didn’t mind her sittin’ down front all day, and she’d stuck to it...even when that rickshaw boy spent ten minutes starin’ at her legs an’ tryna ta sweet talk her inta a ride. Barely took no fer an answer… And that’s when tha idea come. She could keep both promises. Sorta.

Cyd had a need to fill silence, if not with music, then at least with words. Having finished her salmon and potatoes, she took a sip of water before answering Issac’s question. “Day was kiff er… good,” She said in case anyone was unsure of kiff. “Odds, ends. Getting the shuttle kitted out before launch. Captain Cal just let everyone know the next sixteen hours the ship will cut the heat, so it’s gonna get lank icy cold. Before we take off, if anyone hits up Pirate’s Cove, just a little advice, your head is larger than a cannonball, and it will get stuck,” she giggled and side-eyed Isaac. “The maintenance folk were lekker nice about it though, they say it happens all the time.”

Isaac pointed at his sister with a potato skewered fork. "TOLD you other people had done it!" He said, looking quite proud of his dubious accomplishment.

“Enough that they have a code for it,” Cyd agreed with another chuckle.

"We've got a squib in Number 1." Isaac said in his mock officious voice as the siblings simultaneously mimicked the crewman's exasperated sigh and laughed.

"Oh! And Castaways, right on the beach." Cyd added, stifling her giggles over Isaac’s antics. "For serious, you can have a rum and Pensa-Cola right on the sand by a bonfire. Luau every night, and a steel drum band that are madder good.”

“Even better with a daga and good going chwee chweereekeys.” Mathias snickered between bites. “Either way, we learned that Issac is fond of sticking his head in random holes and one day, Lolo, there ain't going to be a code to pop you out.”

“How’d the alley cat fare?” Cal asked from the head of the table, chopsticks hanging between his next bite. “These two mentioned you had some oats to sow,” with a smirk, Cal reached for a roll.

Isaac looked like he was about to die of embarrassment from the Captain's directness. He gave a quick pleading look to his big mouth siblings for putting him in such a situation before turning back to Cal with a dopey grin, cheeks flushed. "Went fine, sir." He replied, trying to hide behind his fork. "Sarah's real nice. Wasn't too thrilled that I was leaving tomorrow, though." His expression flickered sad for a moment, then hopeful. "Any idea when we might be back this way...uh...sir?"

“Always leave them wanting more; good job, kid.” Captain Strand interrogated his plate at Isaac’s question, “Maybe a month or two might see us back on planet, but not Pensacola. Next tuna season, maybe, long as things don’t go sideways tomorrow.” His expression didn’t mirror the boy’s hopeful eyes.

Penelope glanced along the table down to Isaac, tilting her as she was to do when giving a suggestion in the form of reminder. "But we have a shuttle, no matter where we land next time."

No sense in killing his dreams so quick, her glance back towards Cal said. Amused, of course - young love and attachment was cute, especially given the nature of what the Skyes signed on for. They were all vagabonds here, every one. She, having been more an observer than participant though, was done eating. Her mind was a bit more full of thoughts she was ready to get out, and looked like Cal was done enough as well. "Ready for that chat, Cap?"

Cal dabbed his mouth with a ratty, cloth napkin, “Better to have loved and lost, they say,” he chided, pushing out from the table. His eyes met Penelope’s before standing and quitting their company for the bridge.

---

The ever-present small smile on Penelope's lips spread as the shuttle view shown a familiar little beat up truck. She hadn't forgotten her plans, and felt mighty bad she'd kept 'em waiting this long, but she'd promised - letting them know it'd probably be late. There hadn't been any expectations on either of them showing, but here they were.

"Nice shutt-o," Gavin, the one who'd been driving her up the shore the previous day said in that all-too intoxicating accent. His mate, Corbin, was nowhere to be found. He must've caught her glance around, because he answered the question the look asked. "His ma got called in on emergency, leavin' him with the little ankle bitters, and they got to be tucked in early or it's pandie next morning."

That sounded fair, Pen thought, and so her smile returned. She leaned down to release Hermie, who'd been tucked in the curl of her hand, back on the beach. The short braid she wore slipped off to dangle until she righted, resting back on her shoulder. She looked out at the ocean, a storm brewing in the distance. It was beautiful as it was deadly, and she loved it. "No waves for us though. It's too late."

She turned back to him, catching him studying her but not phased. It was flattering since he was quite a handsome fella himself with all that stereotypical surfer boy vibe going well for him. Real well. "Swim instead?"

That clearly surprised him, given how his dark eyes darted to the choppy waves and his hand went to that salt-dried wavy hair. "Ya … " he hesitated, maybe wondering if he should complete the question on how certain she was about that being a good idea. Instead, she was pleased by the fact he shifted back to her direction. "Ya got bathers on under that?"

Penelope glanced down at her cotton over top and pants combo as it danced along her skin in the wind, as if she had to check. She grinned back up at him from her lashes. "Can't say I do. Pretty bold of a fella to ask a lady that."

She held out her hand to him then as she lifted her gaze. It was pretty cute how shy a guy could get all of a sudden. But, he wasn't stupid.

They didn’t make it further than thigh-deep off shore before Penelope whirled around, either on her own or at Gavin’s direction - hard to tell since it seemed simultaneous, both caught up in their own exhilaration of the moment. The ocean’s night chill was nearly forgotten as it ebbed and flowed all around them, even as they crashed to the wet sand and it pooled over and around them.

Would’ve been nice to take him up on the offer to spend the night, wake up in those wiry arms in the cabin of the truck on the beach, storm threatening all around. But, she had to get some sleep if they were to be flyin’ to Greenleaf the next day after picking up a haul of fish. So when Penelope returned with the shuttle later that night, her damp hair hung loose and she smelled of ocean. Sand and salt alike needed washing off, but she didn't mind what didn’t brush away. Not. at. all.

Cal Strand’s cameo by @wanderingwolf

”When you’re a spy…”

Almost too late, she recalled them shows she seen on Uncle Bob’s cortex. They’s chock full ‘o’ cool spy doin’s, with the main man hisself tellin’ yah how things was s’posed tah work. Abby loved them shows, ‘specially tha gun totin’ girlfriend an’ tha slick wingman. Never thought in all her days she’d be tryin’ tah make use ‘o’ tha ‘how to’ parts...

”...people want to dismiss you. Make it simple for them to put you in a box and forget you...”

After supper, she changed back inta her cutoffs an’ a big tee shirt she kept fer sleepin’. Now she looked tha part ‘o’ someone’s stayin’ in fer tha night, she could put the rest of ‘er plan inta action.

”....remember that the best accomplice is an unwitting one.”

“Who is it?” Perfessor Marquina opened his door. “Oh, Miss Travis! How are you feeling tonight?””

She smiled. “Lots better, thank yew. Hate tah bother, but I thought I’d best git a space heater inta yer room afore they’s all snatched up.” She held out the little unit. “Perty simple, an’ fire safe, so yah got no worries. I’ll bring extra blankets in tha mornin’, too. Listen…’cuz yer gonna be holed up alot while we’s in tha black, thought I’d keep hot drinks close ‘ta hand. What’s yer pleasure?” she asked, “coffee, tea, or cocoa?”

The perfessor looked delighted. “Tea, please! Any brown is quite sufficient. How considerate!”

“Ain’t nothin’ a’tall,” she give him a smile. “I’ll keep a hot thermos in yer’ room fer all yer wakin’ hours.” She spied his cortex, layin’ atop a stack ‘o’ sketches...all of what looked tah be tha same flower. “Is that yer orchid?”

“Yes!” His eyes lit up somethin’ fierce. He showed her the pitchers, pointin’ out important bits like coloration in tha blossom an’ give ‘er a primer in spottin’ male an’ female plants. She had tah admit she didn’t ken tha stronger ‘twixt the orchid or his passion fer it. Either way, she promised she’d take time tah hear more once they’s in tha black.

“But fer now,” Abby said, “I need tah make a quick call. Ain’t got a cortex. Could I borrow your’n?”

“Of course.”

She whipped out tha bidness card, an’ tapped in that connect code. “Mmmmmmmmmickey Rickshaw!” came tha answer. Fella’s even annoyin’ in ‘is calls…

“Hey...this is Abby. You gimme yer card taday? Out front ‘o’ that Firefly?”

“Firefly…..oh yeah! Well hello, Beautiful!” he durn near shouted. “Decide you’ll let me take you for a ride?”

“Yep.”

”Jīngrén de! How soon should I be there?”

“Now.”

”...mask an escape attempt as the most common day-to-day errand...”

She made a break fer it, luggin’ a garbage bag across tha cargo bay. Well, limpin’ with a garbage bag, leastways. Jest ahead’s tha door. Twenty foot...fifteen foot...ten foot...she’s gon’ make it…

“Abigail.” Cap’n’s voice come down from on high, in a tone says “busted.”

She stopped cold. “Cap’n?”

“Where you bound?” He’s leanin’ on tha catwalk railin’, lookin’ down on the deckhand with her trash bag.

”...when you’re under interrogation, keep your answers simple…”

“Dumpster.”

“In the dark?”

She heard his cigarette case come open. ”Ohpleaseohpleaseohpleaseohplease...“ the girl silently chanted afore answerin’ Cal. “Yessir.”

“Gotta admit to bein’ all manner of curious,” he said afore sendin’ a cloud ‘o’ smoke toward tha ceilin’. “What sort ‘o’ trash is it makes my deckhand break the Doc’s order to lay low tonight?”

”...Avoid scrutiny by embarrassing the scrutinizer...”

“It’s…” she made tah struggle with her words. “Muh beddin’. Sheets, blanket, ‘n’ such.”

“Now I really don’t…”

“It’s muh time, Cap’n. Started up right after supper.,” she stammered, soundin’ all flustered. “Powerful heavy flow. Couldn’t make it fer a pad an’...”

“I got it,” Cal cut her off with a raised hand. “Just be careful, dohn mah?”

”Shì de, chuánzhǎng.” she thowed a nod of ‘er head afore swingin’ tha door wide an’ makin’ her best speed down the ramp, where Mickey an’ his rickshaw was waitin’.

“Hey Sweetness!” he’s all bright an’ cheerful as she pulled herself inta the canopied seat. “Where to? I know some pretty great places…”

”...a little style never hurts…”

“Pegleg Pete’s,” Abby commanded the rickshaw jockey. “ Punch it.”

*********************To Be Continued********************

”When you’re a spy, you make tough personal choices to support the assignment…”

“Um…” Mickey offered as he pedaled his rickshaw through the streets, “you know everybody can see you, right?”

“They got time fer that,” Abby arched her back, shoulders pressed inta tha seat as she pulled them chinos up over her hips, “means yer not pedalin’ fast enough.” Trash bag was gone, stuffed inta tha duffel what she hid inside it. The gen’ral’s bag was tucked inside that’n, along with her boots, clothes, an’ pistol. A bag inside a bag inside a bag. Notion tickled her when she first thunk on it.

Mickey pushed on through the humid night air. “Not that I mind the eyeful I got,” he said, “but I saw that bandage on your bottom. Can I ask what happened?”

Abby bent deep, groanin’ soft as she pulled up ‘er boots. “Gunfight,” she grimaced, “with tha last fella stared at my pi gu.”

“Hope you brought lots of bullets.”

Pegleg Pete’s. She had a feelin’, and that feelin’ come out right.

The moment she laid eyes on the hemp rope an’ fishin’ nets all strung about, Abby knew she’s bein’ coerced inta a tourist trap. Joint was playin’ hard on old seafarin’ lore, with swashbucklin’ pirates an’ pitchers ‘o’ sailin’ ships scattered all about. Works, too, she conjured as she passed the gift shop afore bein’ waylaid by a smilin’ woman in pleated shorts an’ a staff shirt.

“Welcome to Pegleg’s! Wait for a table’s running about an hour.” That much was true, judgin’ by the tourist types all lined up on them benches out front.

“Meetin’ someone at tha bar,” Abby replied.

Woman eyed her curious fer a minute. Abby’s wearin’ her boots an’ dark chinos hid legs what looked like barber poles from gettin’ sun on one side only. She’s in her fav’rite shirt...grey mechanic’s button down hangin’ open over the sleeveless pink tee. Name of “Earl” embroidered above the breast pocket. Abby never met no “Earl,” but when she seen it in that thrift shop on Regina it just struck her funny. Had her duffel slung on her left shoulder, Ms. Baker’s….Marisol’s...bag all hid inside. She knew carryin’ it about’s like a big neon sign fer ev’ry footpad an’ con artist on New Melbourne, but leastways tha average Fed wouldn’t give ‘er a second look.

“Got ident?” the hostess asked.

“Sure ‘n I do.”

She’s still catchin’ a wary eye. “Sorry,” the woman, name of Mia on her badge, offered. “Your face is just so…youthful.”

Abby shrugged. “Git that alot...usually from them’s tryin’ tah bed me.” She didn’t bother with touchin’ the Colt on her hip. Deadpan expression an’ a flat tone of voice did the trick.

The hostess’ face started goin’ all crimson like. “Right through there,” she managed with a nervous point. “Follow the music. Bartender has menus, too, if you wanna order food.”

“Thank yew.”



Saloon was kinda noisy. They’s a band in tha corner, all beltin’ out somethin’ she took tah be sailor songs. Few folk was parked at tables, all hootin’ an’ poundin’ rhythm tah tha music. One fella caught her eye. Looked tah be her age. Sorta purty, with blond hair in a couple curls. He give her a grin, then offered an open hand towards tha empty chair at his table.

Abby shook her head. No time tah dawdle. She’s runnin’ tha mission.

”...always read the room..."

Abby cut loose a fresh gasp ‘o’ pain as she got sitiated. Set herself all careful onta the barstool, leavin’ the bandaged right cheek tah hang in midair. Duffel’s parked at her feet, but she got the strap within reach. Not takin’ no chances. She looked about, checkin’ other folk at the bar an’ around the room. Ain’t nobody showin’ interest in ‘er, but she kenned that fer a ruse also. Like in that one super-spy book she tried readin’. Some fella named Dirk Piston. She’d give up on it after three chapters, ‘cuz Dirk Piston spent more time bird doggin’ women than he done any spyin’...but he always conjured tha way out. Most like, she figgered at tha time, tah escape pissed off husbands, way he’s taggin’ somebody’s wife ever’ other page.

But good advice was good advice, she couldn’t deny. Abby’s countin’ doors when the bartender come saunterin’ up. She durn near did a double take at tha sight. Rex never talked about no twin brother, but she conjured she done found ‘im. Big fella with a goatee, tats on his arms an’ a shirt what looked like a floral massacre. “Hiya, doll,” he offered all friendly. “What’s your pleasure?”

She woulda jest asked fer Captain Bob’s...but not tahnight. She’s on a mission. Secret handoff. Browncoats an’ tha like. Trouble was, she ain’t never ordered no drink in a saloon. “Ummmm…”

“While you’re decidin’, Babyface, let’s get John Law taken care of.” Barkeep whipped out his reader. “Lemme have your ident.”

”Ku.” She give her card over. Man slipped it inta the reader, caught the green light, an’ then give it a closer look, afore meetin’ her eye with a smile. “Well happy birthday!”

“Thank yew.”

“I’ll whip up a special cocktail...your first legal drink! Big occasion!” The bartender set tah work. Abby didn’t bother tellin’ him t’was her first ever drink. She turned her eye toward the band as they led a singalong.



Didn’t see them blond curls there no more. He was purty, she mused afore the bartender set down somethin’ powerful scary.

“On the house!” he near shouted over tha ruckus. Drink was tall. Glass had a couple handles. An’ ever’where, stuff’s hangin’ off tha rim. Cut limes, cherries, even a fresh peeled shrimp. They’s toothpicks stickin’ outta the whole mess with fruit n’ olives, one ‘o’ them little parasols, an’ toppin’ it all off, coupla sparkers all fizzin’ an’ smokin’ away. Fer tha life of her, Abby wasn’t sure if she’s meant tah drink this thing or watch it break atmo.

A voice come from over her shoulder. “Drink like that,” he said, “sends a message. Tells folk ‘I’m not from around here.”

Abby turned a harsh eye what softened a touch when she seen it was her blond haired boy. “Oh yeah?” she raised an eyebrow, sendin’ a hand tah rest upon the Colt. “What’s this sayin’ tah yah?”

He spent a might longer’n she liked studyin’ her hip. “Party girl?” the boy smirked. “What’s of interest to me,” he raised his eyes, “is the way you’re side saddlin’ that barstool. Seen that before, every time my dad’s ‘roids are actin’ up.” He give her a charmin’ smile. “You got the ‘roids?”

She scowled. “What I don’t got,” Abby bristled, “is no time fer messin’ with some scrub. Step off, now. I’m meetin’ somebody.”

His smile went all crooked an’ amused. “I know. I’m the one you’re here to meet. Thomas Jinks,” he give his name as a hand come up tah shake. “Was hopin’ I’d meet you when China Doll landed, but you weren’t about when we picked up our crates.”

”...treat new contacts as if they’ve been compromised...”

“Jinx, huh?” She fixed him with an eyeful ‘o’ mistrust. “Never heard ‘o’ yew.” Abby left the hand hangin’. “Most like, yer jest another land shark out fer a…”

“Did Mei Lin and her ba ba cross the mountains yet?”

“What?” She looked at him all kindsa confused.

“Book you’re readin’,” Thomas’ hand remained up, patient as he give the proof. “They get chased by that bear yet?”

She looked him over, ponderin’ hard afore it all come back. ”My girls loved the ‘Mei Lin’ series,” Marisol tole her that one day. So this was it. That was tha code, tha secret ident. Nothin' fancy a'tall. This Thomas Jinks was her contact. Deep down, that pleased her a touch, but she weren’t gonna let that show. “Thanks fer spoilin’ it, jackass,” the girl grumbled as her hand joined his. “Travis. Abby Travis.” She ‘membered that from one ‘o’ them spy movies.

Thomas chuckled. “Well hello, Travis-Abby-Travis,” he answered. “Nice meetin’ you, too…”

“Hey Birthday Girl,” the barkeep interrupted. “Something wrong with that drink?”

“Birthday?” Jinks’ head turned. “It’s your birthday?”

Abby nodded sorta absent as she eyed the drink. The fireworks afore her was fixin’ tah set light to the parasol. “Not sure how tah drink it without I lose an eye.”

“You don’t drink that,” Thomas pushed the glass away. “C’mon, Nick, get her something that doesn’t scream “date rape,” okay?” He looked at her. “What’s your regular drink? Gin? Whiskey?” Apparently he seen the confusion on her face. “Ohhh,” he said, all understandin’. “Let’s start easy. Nicky, set her up with vodka and Boom-Boom...single shot. I’ll take a Barnacle Bill.”

“What’s a Barnacle Bill?”

“Only beer I can afford,” Jinks chuckled as an eyebrow lifted. “Less you’re buyin’? Oh, alright....can’t blame a man for tryin’,” he winked at the sudden thundercloud on her brow.

“Jest make sure yah don’t ‘try’ nothin’ else,” she answered...but somethin’s wrong. Words come out more playful soundin’ than she intended.

Nick set drinks down afore ‘em. Jinks lifted his brew. “You got nothin’ to worry about. Girls I like wouldn’t be caught dead in this place.”

She didn’t know she should be relieved or indignant like. But laughin’ out loud? Hadn’t banked on that. “Well, that makes it all right clear,” she giggled.

“My pleasure! Cheers!” After clinkin’ her glass tah his bottle, Abby tasted her first alcohol. Funny, she thought on it. Don’t really taste like nothin’ a’tall. The ‘Boom-Boom’ was nice ‘n’ sweet, with a right zesty sorta tang to it. Gorram, but this was good…

*********************To Be Continued********************

”...if the meet is set for a bar, then you should have a drink…”

One Vodka an’ Boom’Boom become three. Goin’ Dutch become Abby runnin’ a tab. Thomas jest got funnier an’ funnier, not tah mention easier tah look at. “Now I know yer lyin’!” she chortled as the band commenced another sea shanty.



“My hand to Buddha!” He give a lopsided grin. “There is such a thing! We sell ‘em every day!”

“Whatcha take me for?” She give ‘im a playful shove. “Think I jest fell off tha boat tahday? Wait..don’t answer that...” They both broke out laughin’ on that flub.

Thomas landed an empty bottle on the bar. “We can settle this right now,” he grinned. “C’mon, we’re goin’. Pay the man, Crabby….you know somethin’? You’re kinda pretty when you pout like that..”

“I ain’t poutin’!” Abby went for her coin. “I’m...I’m...glarin’! See?” She give a fierce look, til her mouth started crackin’ an’ they both laughed. “Damndest thing ever,” she muttered. “Meet some yokel on muh birthday an’ I wind up payin’.”

Thomas had her duffel on his right shoulder. “I’ll take it out in trade,” he give her a wink, and his left arm to steady her. “Lorry’s right outside.”

With help from his arm, Abby eased herself off the stool. “This ain’t yer way ‘o’ gettin’ me back tah yer place...is it?”

“You conjured my evil scheme,” he chuckled as they made for the door. “Take you back home, show you what I got, introduce you to my mom. No doubt about it,” he chuckled. “I am the Makeout King of Pensacola.” He led her to an old green lorry what had stakeside rails on the bed.

Abby read the faded door sign. “Jinks Nautical Outfitters.”

He threw it open. “Gonna lift you up on the sideboard, so you can ease onto the seat. Afore she knew it, Thomas’ hands had taken her by the waist. He boosted Abby off her feet, toward the open cab. “Careful now.”

His hands was still on her. Not that she minded...much. “What’re yew doin’?” she asked.

“Keepin’ your drunk pi gu from fallin’ outta my truck.”

“I ain’t drunk!” Abby protested. “Am I?”

**********************************

Thomas was positively beamin’. “You see? I told you so!”

He’d been good as his word. ‘Stead ‘o’ walkin’ her inta some sorta makeout pad, he opened up tha fam’ly business. Took her right past all manner ‘o’ boat parts an’ tools tah their “Crew Clothes” section an’ set her right up. First come some new denims. “These wear like iron!” he pointed toward them’s he had on. She took two pair, an’ after some measurin’ an’ fittin’ his mom hauled ‘em off tah her sewin’ room.

Abby found herself some new unders. A six pack ‘o’ white cotton panties what come with a free stripey pair made up fer what she left on Mariposa. She also found some boxers, all decorated with ship’s wheels, compasses, lobsters, crabs, an’ them big fish with the pointy noses. Thomas tried sellin’ her on a black pair what read “The Man...The Legend” with arrows pointin’ up an’ down. She conjured Rex or the Big‘un would try’n steal ‘em, so they went back on tha shelf.

And now, here’s Thomas, all proud of hisself as she’s standin’ ankle deep in the dog’s water bowl. “Feet dry?” he give her a big, expectant smile.

She looked up, eyes fulla wonder. “Sure’n they are!” Abby exclaimed. “I’da never believed it! Waterproof socks!”

“They’re warm, too,” he added. “Been around since the war. Some purple scientist conjured ‘em up.”

‘Warm’ was definitely workin’ fer Abby, seein’s they had a right frigid trip ahead. But mention ‘o’ purple snapped her right back. Her eyes found tha duffel...already emptied of what she brung. “Where’d the gen’ral’s bag go?”

Thomas shrugged. “What bag?”

”...a competent spy never wants to know more than their own part of the operation. Never talk shop…”

“The one what I...oh,” she caught wise. “Sorry,” Abby stepped outta the water. “Meant muh duffel...an’ it’s right there.” She reached down tah squeeze one sock. “Holy la shi,” she gasped. “Already dry!”

“How many you want?” Thomas was punchin’ prices inta a clattery old cash register.

“Got seven panties,” the girl reckoned. “Sounds like seven pair ‘o’ socks.”

”Ku.” The boy tapped it all in. The register’s bell sounded an’ the cash drawer flew open. “You got the family discount,” Thomas snickered at the shock wrote all over her face.

Abby’s jaw near hit the floor. “You sure?”

“Girl buys me drinks on her birthday? If I didn’t cut you a break my Dad would whip tha tar outta me.” He opened her duffel and set to stuffin’ all her new socks ‘n’ unders inside. “Plus one of our tee shirts for your collection.” Thomas pulled a rolled blue tee from beneath the register. “Hey Mom!” he shouted. “MO-OM!”

“What?”

“How soon on Abby’s denims?”

“Ten minutes!”

“We’ll be outside.” After droppin’ her coin into tha till, Thomas led the way toward the back door. “I want you to meet my girl,” he held it open fer Abby. “C’mon...she’s right out here.”

She weren’t feelin’ none too excited ‘bout that, but he’d been so all fired nice that they’s no way she’s gonna turn ‘im down. But then it got curious when Thomas showed her out onta a big dock. They’s a fishin’ boat tied on the end, lights blazin’ an’ crew gettin’ their gear stowed. Tha name CHELSEA J stood proud on ‘er transom. Abby seen a girl on deck, haulin’ heavy buckets of somethin’ nasty down inside. “That her?” she asked.

The boy stopped. “Her? No, that’s my sister. Those’re my brothers,” he pointed out the other crew,” an’ that’s my Dad, up there on the bridge. “My girl,” he give her a smile, “is right here.” Beyond knowin’ she’s lookin’ at a sailboat, Abby couldn’t say a thing. She was long an’ low. Looked to have a tiny cabin on ‘er. Abby didn’t see no wheel, jest a long handle what come off the rudder. Boat had a single mast, with a boom trailin’ back. She had a grace about her. Looked fast, but Abby never seen how fast sailboats could go. Still, growin’ up in boats like she done, the deckhand could spot good care an’ hard workin’ upkeep. She also conjured how purty a thing’s workin’s could be, to boot. Then her eye caught the name.

“Day Tripper,” she read aloud. “That’s an old song, right?”

“Yes!” he laughed. “How did you know?”

“My Aunt Lupe loved a bunch of ‘em.” Abby studied tha boat’s curves, sussin’ out how things work by the ropes what run from ‘em. “So,” she guessed, “looks like it takes two folk tah sail ‘er proper?”

He laughed. “You got a good eye. That’s right! I can single hand her, but manning the tiller an’ trimmin’ two-three sails is a serious handful.”

She give ‘im a sidelong grin. “That how yah lure yer girls?”

’La shi,” Thomas swore. “Haven’t found one yet would agree to go. They take one look at her and say “I don’t wanna get wet.” That last said in a high pitched, nasal tone.

Abby snorted. “Sounds tah me like yer askin’ tha wrong girls.”

“You think?” He lifted an eyebrow.

“I been accused.”

Thomas shrugged. “You could be right. I’ve been chasin’ debutantes. They were all at some high toned to-do last night while I was on the Chelsea J, settin’ trolling lines. Maybe I should take the hint,” he shook his head. “But what about you, Crabby? Spendin’ your days sailin’ the black? Got a boy in every port, do ya?”

“Nope,” she tossed her hair with a chuckle. “Truth of it is I ain’t really been lookin’. Spent muh whole life in tha black, so they’s never much time in any port we touch.” Abby’s eye swept off toward tha night. “ ‘sides, I seen I’m purty much tha one gits looked right past...what’s that over there?” She pointed toward the northeast horizon. The hazy sky looked to glow somewhat, a pale sorta pink what flashed an’ danced. Sight was purty. She’d never seen tha like.

“Hurricane.”

“Fer true?” Her head whirled on her shoulders. “Should I warn my Cap’n?”

He shook his head. “Nah. It’s about three hundred miles northeast. Last Mariner track had it movin’ on north. It’ll fizzle out when it hits real cold water in a couple days. For now, it’s a bad one,” he said. “Good news is it won’t trouble anyone but fish.”

“If it’s s’far away, how we seein’ it?”

“We’re not, really. That’s just haze in the atmo above it, reflectin’ the lightnin’.”

They stood quiet for a time, watching as the distant lights moved and flickered. “It’s beautiful,” Abby said. “Seen a storm in tha black once, looked sorta…”

She’s interrupted by Thomas’ dad as he come abreast. “Thomas, don’t forget, we need that DISBEAC unboxed and mounted before seven in the mornin’.”

“Yes sir,” the boy agreed. “I’ll do it tonight, after I drop my friend off. Dad, this is Abby. Abby, my dad.”

“Hiram Jinks,” he give his hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

She smiled back, shook his hand. “Abby Travis. Nice meetin’ yah.”

At first, he’s dismissive tha way she’d had other grown folk treat her when meetin’. But somethin’ went odd when she give her name. Abby could feel the man, studyin’ her face all intense. Like he’s sizin’ her up...but she couldn’t conjure the meanin’. “Abigail Travis,” Hiram released her hand. “I hope this young man’s treated you well?”

“Sure’n he has, sir.”

“Good.” Hiram’s all gobsmacked. “Good.” Afore too much air could leak inta the conversation, he turned. “Well, I have to hurry off. Fishing season starts tomorrow. We aim to be outta port by seven and on the grounds when the clock strikes. Nice to meet you.” He’s still lookin’ kinda funny as he rushed off up tha dock.

Thomas shrugged. “Sorry. My dad gets sorta Qíguài de the night before a cast off. Don’t take him serious.”

“It’s shiny,” Abby tilted her head toward the building, “but I think yer mom’s usin’ muh denims fer some kinda semaphore.”

Her denims were ready. After packin’ em in tha duffel an’ sayin’ her goodbyes, Abby let Thomas lift her back inta the lorry. As the old truck rattled off, Hiram Jinks joined his wife at the window.

“She the one?” he asked. “Brought the General’s bag?”

“Yes.” She turned toward her husband. “Name of Travis,” she observed. “Feel like you’ve seen a ghost?”

He cast a glance toward his wife. “Two of ‘em.”

*********************To Be Continued********************

The lorry bumped and bounced its’ way across town. Pensacola was lit up like a jewel, her streets full ‘o’ sailors, deckhands an’ fisherman all bent on that last hurrah before tomorrow’s King Tuna season took ‘em all out to sea. Slow goin’ fer tha lorry, which crept up Palafox Street through gaps opened by partiers or police. “So hey,” Thomas said, “while we’re makin’ such good time, you got any other places you need stoppin’?”

Abby thought on that a minute. Vodka done wore off, leavin’ her a tired brain what didn’t like the details. “Ummmmmm...yeah! Yeah I do,” she come around. “Know where there’s a toy store...or an arts ‘n’ crafts?”

“Not at this hour.”

“I figgered. Bookshop?”

“All that stuff closes at nine,” he took a wide berth around a knot of folk standin’ in tha street. “Whatcha lookin’ for?

She thought on the last three items of her list. “Sticky putty,” Abby said, “fer puttin’ photos an’ posters up. Tha second Mei Lin book, now yah ruined tha first,” she give him a playful shove.

“Hey!” he recoiled. “Not my fault you’re a slow reader. What’s next?”

“Chalk. They sell it in big tubs fer kids tah make pitchers on tha sidewalk.”

He turned his head for a moment. “Oh yeah? And what’s ‘Travis-Abby-Travis’ gonna do with that?”

She caught that crooked smile, that sidelong glance, and it struck her all right. “I like drawin’ chalk pitchers...on tha bulkheads in mah room. On my last boat, Uncle Bob...tha Cap’n...used tah let me go EV in tha black. I’d draw whatever I wanted on tha hull. Never bothered him, so long’s he didn’t need tah turn around ‘cuz I fell off.”

“And didja?” He’s all intrigued now. “Ever fall off?”

“No, dumbass,” Abby frowned afore her knuckles rapped soft agin’ his forehead. “I ain’t never fell off. Knock on wood,” she broke out a grin.

“So what do you draw?” he asked, “Outside, on the hull?”

The girl shrugged. “Lots ‘o’ stuff. We’s goin’ tah Greenleaf. Our pilot’s a barefoot...a native, She might lemme come along when she goes inta tha jungle. So I’ll most like draw what I see. Hopin’ fer a big snake, or mayhaps a puma.”

“Deathwish much?” Thomas cocked an eyebrow. “So, if you had chalk, what would yah draw after Pensacola?”

Abby smiled. “That’s easy. A bigass birthday drink,” she chuckled. “That pilot friend’o’ mine? She gimme this beautiful shell what I’m gonna put up in my room. I got plans fer drawin’ around that….an’...I dunno...mayhaps the look on yer poor dog’s face when I’s standin’ in his bowl!” She laughed at the pitcher in her head.

He joined in. “You got a cortex? I so want pictures of what you draw!”

“Can’t afford that jest yet,” Abby tossed her hair with a shake of her head. “But if’n them denims I bought really do 'wear like iron' as yah say, I’ll save muh way up to one a might quicker.”

“Oh they’ll last. And I think those new ‘unders’ of yours are bulletproof,” he quipped. “Serious, though, the moment you get one, look me up. You send me what you draw, and I’ll send you pictures of boats, dolphins, me striking heroic sailor poses, you name it.”

She’s fixin’ him with a fond smile. “Sounds good. I want pitchers ‘o’ yer boat, when she’s sailin’.”

“That’s a given. Hey,” he turned toward her. “How’d you like to go sailin’ tomorrow? I’ll take you, if you want.”

“Oh, I want. I want alot,” she nodded kinda sad. “But we’s castin’ off ourselves. Always work tah do aforehand. ‘Less I git fired or stuck in muh room fer sneakin’ out tahnight.”

He give her a quizzical eye. “You did that? Just to return General Chavez’s stuff?”

“Conjured she needed it.” The girl looked out the window as they drew near the spaceport. “An’ cuz I liked her.”

“Never met ‘er,” he said. “Just did my job. No questions.”

Abby thought on that. This palaver had tha lead spy scowlin’ at her in her head, but she weren’t carin’ much. They just had a minute left...an’...she found herself thinkin’ all manner ‘o’ ways to say goodnight. “Well, that’s muh first ever piece ‘o’ shady work,” she offered. “How’d I do?”

“Great! You did great, Travis-Abby-Travis,” he smiled. “But seein’ as it’s my first time also, I may not be fit to judge. Thinkin’ about buyin’ a nice suit an’ learnin’ to drink martinis, though!”

She played along. “Should I git one ‘o’ them ‘Carmen Sandiego’ hats an’ some sunglasses? Our First Mate says I need tah learn ‘dik-chun. That’d prob’ly help.”

Thomas steered ‘em through the gates inta tha port. “I play guitar...no, not great,” he stilled her question, “but I learned enough tah know that you gotta tune ‘em different ways for different kinds ‘o’ music. I like your tunin’, Abby.” They drove on fer a spell, quiet as row upon row of spacefarin’ boats slipped past the side windows. Soon enough, the headlights splashed over China Doll. She’s buttoned up fer tha night, personnel door locked an’ secure. “I’m kinda sad to see tonight end. But at least,” his face took a wolfish grin, “I got into your denims, huh? Oh wait,” he teased at her sudden frownin’. “Is that glaring, or pouting?”

“Both.”

The lorry shuddered to a halt just shy the ramp. Abby waited as Thomas jumped down to help ‘er. “Alright...careful..” His hands on her waist, hers grippin’ his biceps as he lowered her to the ground.

Once her feet touched, somethin’ happened tah stop her breathin’ altogether. Neither one let go. She’s lookin’ intah his eyes, seein’ somethin’ build behind ‘em. And she wanted...what did she want? “Thank yew, Thomas,” she finally come out. “Don’t conjure ever laughin’ so much all at one time.”

“You know?” His tone went sorta wistful. “I was just thinking the same thing. Thank you back, Abby.”

They ain’t let go. He’s right here, an’ that look in his eye? Excited? A little scared? Her heart’s like tah bounce right outta her chest. What’s tah stop ‘er? He ain’t the first boy she’d ever thought on kissin’, an’ this time ain’t no Uncle Bob about tah raise all hell over catchin’ ‘em. His hands still on her waist. Now or never. No question what she wanted. She’s gon’ do it. Easiest thing in tha ‘verse tah go up on tiptoe, lean toward ‘im an’...

“I should head in,” Abby said.

Thomas withdrew. “Yeah...I need to get back. Dad’s not through crackin’ the whip yet. But…” a sparkle ‘o’ wit gleamed in his eye, “at least you can say we had really good socks, dohn mah?”

She drew back, fightin’ the laugh what welled up. “Who writes yer jokes?” Abby demanded. “Fire ‘em!” Still, he’s so pleased with hisself she couldn’t play hard-to-be fer long. She give in an’ laughed, but it come with a shove tah his shoulder.

“Hey Crabby, next time you’ve got a super secret mission for you-know-who, count me in!”

She smiled as he give her the duffel. “Soon’s I git that cortex, we’ll come up’th our own spy code. Then you’ll git proper tired ‘o’ me fer sure.”

“Try me.” he give her a last smile, but she seen more in his eyes. “Next time we’re goin’ sailin’!” Thomas exclaimed as he headed round for the driver’s seat.

“Sure’n we are. ‘Night.” She walked slow an’ steady as the engine coughed alive. After the door code entered an’ she opened it, Abby turned around an’ give Thomas a final wave. He tapped the horn an’ sped off, the old lorry’s one workin’ taillight showin’ all the way down tha road.

She watched fer a spell, til she couldn’t see ‘im no more. She hauled the heavy door shut an’ engaged tha locks. Then, in the dim light of tha empty cargo bay, she kinda deflated agin’ a bulkhead. Best chance she’d had yet...an’ she completely chickened out. “I surely don’t conjure,” Abby whispered all disgusted, “jest how I can be so gorram stupid.”

JP with @sail3695

---

The entire flight back, Penelope made good on keeping her mind clear of anything. She was relaxed, sleepy, and content - all the exhilaration of the impending storm’s winds blending with a mighty fine beach tussle had wound down. That was as far as her mind wandered - just on the present as she navigated the night sky. Not even an image of the sun-kissed pretty boy made it through. Now though, she sat in the pilot’s chair of the docked shuttle for a moment after stretching out fully only to end up looking at her tanned wrist. The only sound she could hear was the ticks of the engine cooling, but her mind played the sound of the ocean.

Bound about her wrist was white line tied into a square knot. It contrasted nicely, she thought, as she traced over the sporadic pattern of blue laced in. And it was a nice cord, at least 3/8 inch and double-braided. A sailor’s line, Gavin had explained as he tied it on. She wouldn’t have expected less of a seasoned regatta sailor, and it was pretty. But even as he looped it on, tying the off end in a butterfly knot so the frayed ends dangled down, she couldn’t help but think what she could use the line for.

And here she was again, allowing herself just a minute to wonder. Maybe it was just in her vagabond nature... Or maybe she wasn’t meant for romantic notions like the hope of returning to the planet soon to see a certain face, like the youngest Skye. She might have gently scolded the captain for unintentionally trying to snuff that out by being honest, but she agreed with Cal to some degree. Helen said she hadn’t met the right fella yet. But it was more the opposite; she met the wrong fella first, and that was enough. Wouldn’t go around ruining the fun for anyone else though, whether it was a drunken night of passion that left marks or innocent dates along the seaside harbor town.

The cord easily slipped loose with a gentle tug on the release of the line, the fantasy of the previous hour or so falling away with it. Moments were best left simple, otherwise the perfection of them got all mucked up. She sighed, that gentle smile returning as she lifted herself up from the chair and made her way to the exit, winding the length of cord around her fingers.

Abby waited a good long while fer the door’s echo tah fade an’ die. Such an abrupt sound; ain’t no way tah muffle when heavy metal strikes heavy metal an’ them locks engage. Best tah do it quick an’ have an excuse all ready if’n she was tah come face tah face with the Cap’n. Or worse yet, tha doc.

When Penelope stepped down onto the catwalk though, she caught a curious sight for the time of night wandering through the cargo bay. Abbs was headin’ towards where she’d made a room for herself. Penelope might not of thought nothin’ of it considering how restless the girl seemed to be had she not been carrying a duffle bag and the sound of the ship closing up from below hadn’t been what made her look down in the first place.

Leaning against bars with folded arms on the guardrail, Penelope held the line in a palm all-but forgotten about as she called down. “Thought the doc and cap’n alike ordered ya on bed rest, missy.”

If the gently amused tone of her voice wasn’t indication enough, mayhaps the grin on her slightly sandy face was enough to tell Abby she was only teasing. Penelope understood more than most the need to be able to move around at-will, and she hadn’t heard the self-scolding Abby’d given herself, so she was all smiles. As was usual. “Need any help with that bag you’re luggin’?”

When nobody showed, Abby had counted her blessin’s an’ started across tha cargo bay. Though her pi gu complained with ever’ step, the girl kept movin’. The fella in them spy shows had somethin’ tah offer ‘bout findin’ cover, but when yer out in tha open such as she was, best move was tah act natural ‘bout bein’ there an’ jest movin like yah owned tha place. So, she walked, Queen Of The Deck, knowin’ where she’s goin’ an’ bein’ all in charge.

Leastways, til tha sound ‘o’ Pen’s voice brought tha house ‘o’ cards spinnin’ asunder.

”Thought the doc and cap’n alike ordered ya on bed rest, missy.”

That much was true, an’ ever’body ‘cept Perfessor Marquina was there tah hear it. Odds was powerful long against her makin’ it. She seen that now. Busted, she was. Straight up.

”...When you’re a spy, you have to have a plan for mission failure. It may be time to face the music, but you can at least call the tune…”

Abby looked up. Pen was standin’ at tha rail, a right cheshire cat grin on ‘er as she gazed down. She seen the mischief in the woman’s eye, an’ conjured that a positive. Mayhaps she wasn’t gonna spend the night gettin’ lambasted by both the Cap’n and the Doc.

The fun on Pen’s face become nigh on infectious. Abby set her load down an’ thawed her hands in tha air. “Yah got me. Fair an’ square.”

“Need any help with that bag you’re luggin’?”

“Lighter’n it looks,” the girl slung her duffel once again to her shoulder. “Got a few clothes I’s short. So, yah haulin’ me afore tha Cap’n?”

Pen gave a fair chuckle at the response, leaning back the full length of her arms as her hands held tight to the bar. The felt good to stretch out the joints after sittin' a spell in the cockpit, but that wasn't what she was focusin' on. Considering, or at least pretending to, but she shrugged. “Don’t see no need on rousin’ the Cap’n, I reckon…”

She went back against the rail with an elbow, head tilted a bit. “We never got tah sit around, and I see ya done gone and got half a tan there without me. Couldn’ta done that this late at night. Where abouts you goin’ clothes shoppin’ after dark when them Skyes and us coulda had a trip out ‘fore going to Greenleaf? Think they were green for it.”

Abby conjured best not tah answer that’n where them Skyes was concerned. She moved tah her shoppin’ instead. “Met a fella,” she give a smile. “I gotta limp up there tah tell yah or yew comin’ down here?”

The mention of a fella had Penelope’s grin spreading, but she didn’t tease - not about that. Instead, she tapped the handrail once and said: “Be down in a sec.”

It didn’t take the pilot long since she went a little faster than her usual casual stroll, all interested in this story as she was. When she reached the landing and crossed over the base of the cargo hold to join Abby, she stopped to place one hand on her hip and held the other outstretched for the bag. The line she’d been holding got tucked away in her pocket. It didn’t even occur to her that she’d left a nice bit of cuddlin' for sleep, and here she was wide awake and ready to hear details. It'd been a while since she'd had a friend, but that'd come to her later on. “Give it here. I ain’t gonna tell the doc or Cap’n, but can’t rightly go lettin’ you stay on your feet any longer. You can tell me all about this fella on the way to bed.”

Not one tah make disobedience her way, Abby did as she’s told. “Thank yew,” she said as tha duffel slipped onta Pen’s shoulder. “I’m back this way.” She set off, limpin,’ thought if anyone asked she’d swear its’ gettin’ better. “Met this fella, name ‘o’ Thomas,” she told the tale as they headed past the medbay. “We had a couple drinks. He’s busted flat, so I paid…”

“This story is already promising…” Pen teased amicably, following only behind Abby. Since she was well practiced in strolling, it wasn’t an issue of slowing down at all. It also let her assess Abby’s condition without being obvious. She'd have somethin' to say if the girl resisted, but she wasn't putting up a fight. “Drinks ended up in a shoppin’ trip?”

“Well...yeah...but not what I ‘spected. I’m up this way.” Abby turned fer tha starboard passage. They’s only a couple rooms set fer passengers on this side. Aftmost of ‘em all was a small compartment got shelves fer storage of beddin’, towels, an’ cleanin’ supplies. The deckhand slid the door an’ made her way past the shelves. “My room,” she nodded. “But Thomas...felt all bad ‘bout me buyin’ his drinks. Turns out his fam’ly runs a marine outfitter business. They got boat parts an’ stuff fer crew...includin’ clothes.”

“That all sounds pretty straightforward.” Penelope passed the duffle over at the doorway, but didn't give her answer immediately. She spoke after a moment of mulling it over, eyes roving the small space idly as she considered, but the smile returned to her tone as she added: “Don’t explain that li’l smile you flashed when you said you met a fella though.”

Abby set the duffel aside, With her hand on the bulkhead fer steadyin’, she lowered herself onta the bunk, a smile creepin’ up that even the few quick stings of pain couldn’t snuff. “Pen...he was so….nice,” she propped herself inta a corner. “Kinda smartassed...we teased each other tha whole time. But...he wants tah keep in touch, an’ take me sailin’ next time we’re here.”

Seein’ Abby all soft over what seemed to be an innocent enough night out had Penelope feelin’ right happy for her. She leaned back against the door frame, foot lifting to hold her balance there, not wanting to get any sand in the small room. “That’s mighty nice. Reckon it was worth the risk of gettin’ caught by the doc or cap’n… “

But then her smile faltered for a moment, and her brow knit. The pilot reached up to rub some sand that’d been itching now that it was dryin’ off the back of her neck beneath her hair. She was thinkin’, replaying Abby’s story. “Ya went out for drinks by your lonesome, then ended up meetin’ a fella who took ya clothes shoppin’...”

Then her hazel eyes looked back up with concern, not quite putting together any suspicious activity and rather favorin' worry instead. “If you’re hurtin’ enough to need some drinks, ya know the doc would give ya somethin’, right? Ain’t no reason to be proud, Abbs. You took a bullet.”

Abby shook ‘er head, wipin’ tha air with a hand. “Weren’t nothin’ like that, I promise.” She pulled her ident card. “So much happenin’ fer me of late...bounced off my old boat an’ ever’thin’ here on China Doll, I clean fergot it’s my birthday. Eighteen’s legal fer a drink on New Melbourne. Thought I’d try me one, then see if’n I could find some socks an’ unders.”

“It’s your birthday?” Penelope’s concern melted into surprise, creases of her wide eyes rounding full at the news. “Why didn’t ya say somethin’ at dinner? Bet Hook woulda made you a right nice cake.”

“Kinda fell outta tha habit ‘o’ celebratin,” Abby said. “Last few years on Mariposa...that’s muh old boat...my Uncle Bob weren’t pickin’ hisself up after Aunt Lupe passed. Spent much of my time keepin’ him an’ his boat together. Fer true I didn’t conjure the day til my ident slipped outta muh pocket.” She regained her smile. “But it was nice.”

“Well…” Penelope hesitated, not wanting to wipe the smile off Abby’s face but she felt a bit protective of the younger girl. “I’m glad it turned out nice, I am, but Abbs… it ain’t safe for a girl to go off to a bar alone for a drink. ‘Specially port towns like this ‘un. You were mighty lucky to have found a nice fella… even if he did help ya shop for nickers.”

The last comment got a twitch from Penelope’s lips, the firmness of her tone softening to hopefully relay that she wasn’t scoldin’ but more expressing concern. All she meant was kindness in her smile, and worry. Abby didn’t seem to know a whole lot about the world, even as grown as she seemed at times. “Next time ya want to go out for drinks, make sure someone you trust is with ya, okay?”

Abby heard Pen out. Fer a moment, she thought tah give tha Colt on ‘er hip a pat an’ say somethin’ all spy soundin’ like “I wasn’t alone.” Dirk Piston woulda said that, she’s sure...when he wasn’t wastin’ pages nailin’ women spies. She seen the look in Pen’s eye, and conjured the care she’s tellin’ was all true an’ honest. One thing she knew fer sure was that kinda concern...fer somebody like her...was somethin’ she’d treasured in her life. “I promise,” she offered a solemn nod.

“Good.” Penelope grinned brightly at that. She was big on promises, and knew that not everyone kept theirs like she tended to do, but she immediately believed Abby. “So how ya going to go about keepin’ in touch with this sailor boy name 'o' Thomas?”

She hadn’t moved from the door frame, but her posture had relaxed, and she was genuinely interested in knowing Abby’s plan. It wasn’t a ‘have you thought about this’ continuation of seriousness, but rather more supportive - just as she’d been about Isaac’s little bloomin' romance. It made her feel good to know that people had them, to see young love.

“Tole him I’m savin’ up fer a cortex,” the girl said. “Git a few good runs under muh belt an’ hold mah money back, shouldn’t take me too long afore I’m sendin’ him pitchers ‘o’ what I draw.” Her smile faded a touch, til her face took on a serious cast. “Pen...can I ask yew somethin’ sorta personal?”

It had been quite some time since Penelope was willing to share anything about herself, and the question threw her off-guard just a little only in that she immediately knew the answer. “Of course, Abbs.”

The deckhand’s eyes dropped as she struggled over her words. “Yer few years older’n me,” Abby worked herself toward the courage tah come out with it. “Yah’ve...yah’ve….kissed…..a fella or two?”

Penelope found herself having to rein in the laugh of surprise that almost made its way out. She definitely didn’t want Abby to feel laughed at, especially given this was obviously a big moment for her, and she certainly wasn’t doing such a thing. Here she was, covered in sand and salt from doing quite a bit more than kissing on a beach, and being asked so shyly if anything more innocent than that had ever happened in her life.

“One or two,” Penelope managed to answer after a moment of thinking of how to say it, absently fidgeting with the length of line in her pocket. At her age, she should be able to remember the number, and probably could if she allowed herself to think on those perfect moments, but it was easier to leave them as they were. “Did this happen with Thomas?”

Abby seen Pen’s own tribulation. She’s all set tah apologize fer such a rude question when the pilot come back and landed right on the point. “No,” she answered kinda glum, “but it coulda. We’s right there...close up. I seen it in his eyes an’...I wanted it. Knew I was gonna do it….an’ then I backed off.” She shook ‘er head as her eyes come up, lookin’ fer answers in Pen’s own. “Fer tha life ‘o’ me I can’t figger what ‘twas pullin’ me back.”

“I’d like to say that I knew, so I could help ya.” Penelope said gently, with a tilt of her head, and she meant it. If she weren't covered in beach, she might have gone to sit on the bed with Abby here for comfort. “My best guess would be nerves on account of what’s next and how far expectations go after that. But…”

She kicked at the floor lightly with the toe of her foot she’d been using for propping, immediately regretting it as she felt sand loosen from her shoe. The brief frown at the little bit of sand turned up and was gone away into a smile. “Since you’re still smilin' and frettin’ all account of this fella, reckon he is the good sort to not mind waitin’ till you figure that out either way.”

“I like ‘im, Pen,” Abby’s smile come up again as she spoke. “I like ‘im. Only been kissed once afore, an’ we’s caught by muh Uncle Bob ‘fore we could try one proper. But,” she thought on it as she kicked the boots off, “I s’pose I should stop worryin’ bout tahnight. Thomas was...jest a good guy all ‘round. We poked fun on one t’other, talked alot, an’ laughed a ton.” She chuckled as she caught Pen’s eye. “Guess I best work on that cortex, huh?”

It was easy to get caught up in the happiness bubbling up out of Abby talkin’ about this fella Thomas. Penelope returned the grins easily as anything. Seeing the conversation was winding down, she slinked up off the door into a stretch, resting a cheek against her upper arm as she let the motion come down so her hands held her elbows over her head. “My sister says it’s good to have goals to work towards - usually in not such a nice way, but… I think it’d be somethin’ good to work towards. ...If ya are as stubborn as I think ya are, and wouldn’t take a loan from a friend, 'course.”

Pen...from the moment she first seen her, Abby knew straight up the heart what drove their pilot. Jest here as they was, with her listenin’ tah Abby tell of situations a grown woman might find naught but a chuckle from. Yet here she was, takin’ her younger all serious an’ now offerin’ the help ‘o’ cashy money so’s Abby could reach out to a fella she jest met. “That means tha world tah me,” her smile held as she shook her head. “Thing worth havin’s worth workin’ for. Thank yah, but I’ll be stubborn this time, if’n yah don’t mind.”

“I figured you might say that,” Penelope’s smile didn’t fade as she let her arms fall down to her sides. “Can’t say I disagree, Abbs. Can’t say I disagree at all. But, I’ll let you get that rest you were supposed ta be gettin’ hours ago, ‘fore your night on the town with a nice young fella.”

She winked at that, and made to go for that shower she promised herself before bed. “Night, Abbs. I would say sweet dreams, but I reckon you’ll have those no problem.”

“Night, Pen.” Abby reached for the bedside lamp. “An’ thanks.” As the door slid shut, she cut tha light. After a slow riggle outta her clothes, Abby tucked inta her bunk. She’d only been on this boat fer a few days, but it never stopped amazon’ her ‘bout the kind ‘o’ people she’s sailin’ the black with during this new chapter in her life. Somethin’ tah be said for driftin’ off tah sleep as yer countin’ the possibilities.

Joint post with @MK Blitzen, @Winters, @Yule





Cleaning the shuttle wasn't as bad as Cyd imagined, but then again, Skye’s weren’t strangers to physical labor. Decked out in old shirts, shorts and takkies, things that were easy to clean, two of the three were soon looking like chimney sweeps from an old movie. Cyd’s small speaker filled the shuttle with the sweet sound of trance, perfect to scrub to - inbetween cutting shapes and the occasional shuffle. She swayed, shifting weight from one foot to the other in time to the electronic beat as she led a blue wire behind some trim. Mathias swabbed the deck, the older twin showing off a few lekker moves of his own, at one point dropping the mop and reverse kicking it back up to grab it. She laughed at his showing off, and he playfully swiped at her feet with the wet end of the mop. The only thing missing was Isaac keeping time on whatever he could find to drum on. Cyd’s shoulders dropped. He was still pining over the fact that his encounter with Sarah would be a one-time-only kind of thing. His sister suggested keeping in touch via data links, but that only seemed to make matters worse for the teen, especially after she semi-innocently called it puppy love. Since dinner, the youngest for the most part sat off by himself in the front of the shuttle, rag and spray bottle in hand as he absently cleaned the same part of the dash for at least three songs. Poor kid. Mathias noticed his mood and gave the boy a wide berth as well, keeping teasing to a minimum. Both hoped he’d be back to his old self soon enough. Like hard work, the Skye’s weren’t strangers to disappointment either, and Isaac was predisposed to be happy-go-lucky. Our Jack of hearts, Cyd mused, thinking of their matching tattoos.

She affixed a wire along the ceiling to the center of the shuttle with a bit of duct tape ‘purchased’ for that purpose. From there hung a small, glittery mirror ball with flashing lights that Mathias scored just for her. “Rave on,” he said with a lopsided grin, giving his sister a hand down from the overturned crate used as a stepstool. Cyd pressed a few buttons on her data pad to check it out and pink, blue, green and brilliant white light splashed around the inside of the shuttle.

“Lekker!” Cyd replied with a twirl, taking off her cap to let her aqua hair fan out as she spun, the freshly cleaned floor making it perfect for dancing. Mathias would never say it outloud, he wasn’t the type to fetch a baboon from around the hill, but even he was doing his best to enjoy knowing where their next meal would come from - and with Isaac, a ready source of padikos was a must.

Isaac. The boy had given up pretending to clean and sat with his shoulders slumped, staring out at the apron of the landing bay. Cyd nudged her twin, standing on her tip toes to reach his ear. The crate would have been much more effective, given his height and the amount of sound. If her speaker was loud before, the additional three he added from the electronics haul made it a ravers paradise. “Talk to him!” She encouraged, ticking her head towards the front of the shuttle. The ‘bow’ according to the guide at Pirates Cove. “I’ll go check on the delivery!”

Mathias mocked her in response with an impish akanbe gesture that he was promptly jabbed for. “It’s better from you!” She laughed, playfully shoving Yobo, who feigned a dramatic fall. She was still giggling as she slung her drop-leg utility bag over her shoulder. It was designed to be worn around the waist and strapped to your thigh -function over fashion, and it was plenty big for her gear. This way, no matter how much headbanging or how rough a mosh pit grew, her stuff was safe, super important seeing as more than once Mathias had to dive in, throwing elbows and shoulder checks to pull her or Lolo out.

The cargo bay was eerily quiet except for Cyd’s faint giggle.The middle Skye hated quiet, it was as if you could literally feel your thoughts creeping up with you, a mist threatening to make everything damp and hazy. She figured that’s why Isaac always drummed or figited, Why she danced, why she hacked, why Mathias practiced cards or coin tricks meticulously.

Mathais kept his smile from turning into a frown as Cyd bailed, passing the teen grenade right into his hands. 'She's doing this cuz of that thing I did on Ariel …'

The inside the shuttle was awash in colorful lights that pulsated in and out of sync with the music. The buzz of activity, the tunes, it seemed impossible to bring the place down. And yet, that's exactly what Isaac had accomplished. He didn't mean to. He just... couldn't stop thinking. And all of his thoughts centered around one thing...Sarah. Why did it have to go the way it did? Why did he feel the need to put on a fake face to everyone at dinner? Why wouldn't the Captain answer him straight? He could've at least salvaged something with that information. It was only then that he noticed his sister gone and his brother staring at him all...weird.

Mathias was not good at this. Cyd was the one with the mothering instinct, so he had no clue why she thought he would be able to help. He would be sure to file a complaint.

Time to suck it up or fuck it up.

Joint post with @Winters, @Yule





Mathias dumped himself into the pilot's seat next to Issac. "That spot on the console looks clean enough to eat off of …"

'Nailed it.' Mathias thought dryly.

Isaac's eyes lazily rolled from the spot on the floor he was so intently gazing at over to his brother and then to the day, responding with a rather unconvincing snort of adjustment. 'Well, at least he didn't he open with Hey, buddy...' he thought to himself, thinking about how ridiculous his brother would look trying to comfort a sad toddler. The thought of that, on the other hand, did elicit a small grin, if only for a moment.

"Thanks." Isaac said curtly.

The teenage brooding was overwhelming. "You wana … I dunno … talk about it or something?" Mathias said lamely. He has no clue what pearl of wisdom Cyd thought he could impart on his little brother. It sucked. It will continue to suck. It will not get better, just more tolerable. Not exactly the thing a lovelorn teen is going to want to hear.

Isaac lazily shrugged his shoulders at his older brother, breaking eye contact to fix his gaze on something inanimate. He was never good at putting on the 'brave face' when it came to his sibs. And if he kept looking at Mathias, the older Skye would undoubtedly wear down his resolve and he'd spill his guts about the whole situation.

"Nah, not really." The younger conceded, slumping back into the co-pilot's chair.

"Well if you ever want to talk about it-" Mathias said, moving to get up.

"It's just that-" Isaac started, leaning forward onto the edge of his seat and unwittingly blocking his brother's attempt at escape.

God Dammit! Mathais plopped back down in a fit of adult dramatics as Isaac let loose.

"I mean," Isaac continued, "everything was going so great, ya know? Then I told her we were leaving tomorrow and she got so sad, then so mad! Why do we always have to keep moving like this?" He didn't wait for his older brother to respond before continuing his barrage of questions. "Why couldn't Cap say when we'd be back to New Melbourne? Least I could have told her when I'd be back, ya know? Why'd Sarah get so upset? I-I told her the truth! Now she thinks I was just stringing her along for fun or something." Isaac punctuated the last bit with his body slumping back into the chair, then continuing his list of grievances where he left off. "It's not like I've got any say in the matter. 'Isaac, go where you're told. Isaac, do what you're told.' And she's nice, Mat. Like super nice! And sweet too! And she likes me. Well, liked me," the younger Skye corrected himself, "before I went and hurt her feelings like a jerk."

"I don't think you were being a jerk. Just honest and upfront. Not that it makes ya feel better." Mathias explained trying to recall how he had been at that age. At the very least he knew what not to say. "It's really the best thing you can do, be upfront and hope for the best."

Isaac shifted his weight towards the armrest closest to a window and propped his elbow into it dropping his cheek into his hand.

"I guess" he replied, unassured by his brother's reassurance, as he stared out the shuttle's window at whatever activity he could spot that would distract him from his current dilemma.

"Yea, I know it's not what you want to hear." Mathias said, leaning back on the seat. "I could lie and say it gets easier if you want." He shrugged.

Isaac cocked an eyebrow at his brother.

"How are you two twins and she's so good at this while you're so bad at it??" Isaac had intended that to be said in his inside voice but, quite possibly due to lacking a filter in his current emotional state, that came out in his outside voice.

"Okay, when was the last time you ever saw me on a date? Or Cyd with anyone longer than a day. What is she going to say differently? Other than giving you cavities from the sugar coating she would dump on?" Mathias asked. "I dunno, maybe the reason she sent me in is cuz there isn't a nice way to sugar coat it. It sucks, it will continue to suck, our lives are not going to change anytime soon and the worst part is it won't get better. But you will get used to it and the one thing I can guarantee is your family is always here for you. That's about all I got for you cuz honestly it's the only thing that really keeps me going."

Isaac was quiet for a long moment. Mathias was right. But, more importantly, he was being brutally honest. Mathias rarely showed insecurity and the only people he ever allowed to see that side of him were Cyd and Isaac. Still, it happened so infrequently that it always surprised Isaac when it did come out and honestly, Cyd wouldn't have put it that way, maybe she couldn't. The younger Skye finally broke the silence.

"Thanks, bro" was all he said, his voice calm.

" … that and always use a condom." Mathias smirked.

"Dick." Isaac laughed in spite of himself.

"Exactly!" Mathias laughed.

Joint post with @MK Blitzen, @Gunther





The sound of a hard bristled broom being pushed against the floor pricked Cyd’s ears as she padded down the steps of the cargo bay, and she semi-consciously stepped in time to the rhythm. Step-step swish, step-step swish, step-step swish.

“Aweh?” she called out. Like aloha, it was both a greeting and a goodbye, suitable for all situations. A smile crossed her face when she saw Hook the cook step out of the shadows. “Howzit, Mr. Hook!” she called, happy to see the man. Jumping the last railing to the ground, she took a quick glance around, habit mostly, because it was always good to be aware of your surroundings. “I was hoping to see you.”

“Well, hello, Miss Skye,” Hook responded, taken aback by the sudden appearance by the green haired young woman. Or was it blue? Maybe aquamarine is a better color to describe the lady’s hair. Joe stopped sweeping and looked up. “How may I be of assistance?”

“It’s just Cyd,” she giggled. “Spelled with a C. It makes a difference.”

“Ok, Miss Cyd, with a C.” Hook smiled at the young woman. He found the clarification mildly amusing.

Cyd rooted around in her bag, unzipping a couple of pockets until she found what she was looking for. “I have something for you…” She smiled as she found the gold-painted metal dubloon they dug up at the Pirate Park. They were supposed to leave them, but surely one wouldn’t be missed. “This is for you. It’s… not real,” she said apologetically, pointing out the Pirate Cove mascot and logo. “I mean, you can’t spend it or anything, but on the tour they told us that pirates and soldiers used to give each other a special coin as a show of appreciation. This one is special because it has something from New Melbourne. So… Shot… thanks.”

Joe looked at the coin. “Ah heard ah these from Earth that was. Yup. coins. Dubloons?” Joe tossed the coin into the air, caught it, bit it. He left a minor indentation in the metal. “Yep, its fake.” He smiled at her. “I do appreciate this, Miss Cyd. I will cherish if always. Thank you.” He bowed ever so slightly, with a minor hand wave.

“Not just for the lekker dinner. It’s more -- I don’t know what I’d do without my brothers,” Cyd answered, zipping her bag back up. “I’m sorry it’s not real. The real one was a little above my paygrade. And by a little, I mean… a lot. It was lank expensive for real gold, and we have rent now. Oh! Did you hear? We rented out the port shuttle for a ways, we’ll be making a few jumps together. We’re cleaning it up now. I was just going to check and see if what we ordered was delivered yet, they’re supposed to bring it on up to the ship. That’s kiff, right?”

“Ah’m not shore what kiff means, but if that means it is good, shore. It is good.” Joe smiled. “Y’all will do well in that shuttle. If yah, need hep cleaning it up, let me know. I’ll give you a hand if ahm available.” Joe briefly contemplated what she said about her brothers. He understood the meaning of family. “As fer your brothers, I completely understand you wantin’ to keep them right. I loss my brothers a long time ago. Now the crew here on the China Doll are mah family. Ah would do anything to protect them. If I did anything to save your brother, mebee I was trying to save my sister, Miss Abby?”

The whole thing had happened in the blink of an eye, a gun aimed at Mathias, then blood- so much blood. Eish. The mist was catching up. “I don’t know. Things went sideways fast, ja nee?” She shrugged, pushing the thoughts back down where they belonged.”And I’m sorry to hear about your brothers. Gesin - that’s Saint Lo for family. You have an accent yourself - where were your gesin from?”

“Ah never knew my real parents. Ah grew up on Hera. Worked on a farm. The Missus of the house taught me to cook. I learned along with her daughter, Penny.” Joe mentioned the farm in a nostalgic sense. He missed those happy days. Saddened by their loss. He was no longer smiling. His eyes bore past Cyd seeing Penelope McGinnis’ beautiful face framed in a long mane of black hair. He believed the purple bellies killed them too. “When the war ended, Ah was the sole survivor. I hopped on a ship and left Hera behind. Yea, ah talk like them. They was mah family.”

Cyd put a hand comfortingly on his forearm. “I’m glad you found another family, Mr. Hook- people to look after that look after you too. Verse is a big place, I’d be skirk to be alone. I haven’t been solo - not even for a minute, as far as I know.” She lowered her voice in a conspiring tone. “Mathias was born first. I’ll be honest though, we were pretty small at the time, so…I’m not for one hundred percent he is the older twin, but I like being in the middle sommer.”

“Where are y’all from?” Joe asked Cyd Skye. He wanted to change the subject back to her and her brothers. His heart sank thinking about all the people he once loved, all dead.

“From all over, like nomads but originally from Saint Lo - that’s Beaumonde. Keeping my Lo-speak reminds me of who I am.” She brightened some. “Ja nee? You honor your gesin speaking Heran.”

“Ah guess so...Never looked at it like that. Speaking Heran.” Joe tossed that idea around in his head. “That shore is a pleasant way of lookin’ at it.” Joe smiled. “I do appreciate the Dubloon, Miss Cyd. I really should get back to cleanin’ up round here.”

“Me too,” Cyd giggled, pointing her thumb back towards the shuttle. “That’s why I’m taking my time about it. And it’s just Cyd. I’m not larny. That’s Lo-speak for fancy.” She held a pinky up to show him and used a haughty voice. “Shot, Mr. Hook! I’ll keep an eye out for our delivery. Offer stands if it gets too cold! Come by and warm up.” She turned to pad back up the cargo bay steps, two at a time. “Open invite, Aweh!”

“Thank you, Miss Cyd,” Hook smiled. “Ah appreciate it.” Joe returned to sweeping the deck.

"We say shot!" Cyd called back over her shoulder. She counted off in her head and danced up the steps in time to the rhythm. The sound of the hard bristles scraped across the floor, echoing throughout the cargo bay. Step-step-swish, step-step swish. The boat had cadence. Cyd couldn't help but smile. Rave on, China Doll.

Martinez cast a dubious eye upon his handiwork. “Not gonna hold.” With Yuri’s prompting, the machinist had fashioned a square cap to fit over the duct opening. The hasty TAC welds had given way twice during their efforts until several four by four shoring beams were wedged into place. A further attempt at reinforcement was an ad hoc lattice of ⅛” stripping, which formed a crude basket to anchor the cap in place. The whole arrangement still leaked, but if the mechanic could offer a positive thought it was the fact they’d contained the rhythmic torrents down to a regular trickle.

“Just need it for a few hours,” Antonov replied.

Martinez set to packing his rig. “Eighteen inch duct at twelve feet...that’s alot of water volume, Yuri. We’d better have another plan for when it starts splittin’ the seams.”

He responded with a simple “aye.” The Mick wasn’t rolling quite as heavily as she’d been earlier, but com chatter told him that if anything, Hurricane Daniel had grown more tenacious. They hadn’t changed course, which meant the towering waves were still coming over the port railing. The subtle easing of the vessel’s rear and plunge could only mean one thing. She was settling.

Their walkies came alive. “Engineering, bridge.”

“Engineering.” Yuri could sense the quiet alarm in Edwards’ voice. The old chief was holding it together, but as the afternoon succumbed to night and the pumps slowly lost ground to the rising water in their bilge, the tremor in his voice became more pronounced.

“Chief,” First Mate Gallegos spoke, his voice raised to combat the roaring maelstrom that pummeled the Eileen McSorley’s bridge. “Just lost our radars, NAVSAT, and radio. Got a mate you can send?”

“Golly,” Edwards’ voice cracked a touch. “Got any electrical faults? Any idea what happened?”

“Negative electrical. Portside lifeboat,” the First responded. “Pulled right off its’ davits. Wind picked it up and rolled it over top of the wheelhouse.”

Yuri, Martinez, and Chrissy all reacted as a chorus. “Shit.” The account offered a clear picture of the lifeboat, broken free and bludgeoning its’ way through the rooftop radar and satellite transceivers, before snapping the radio mast like a toothpick. “Chrissy,” Yuri spoke as he sorted through their collection of tools, “think we can sway up the aux antenna?”

He saw the incredulity in her eyes. “Son of a bitch,” she muttered to herself. “If it’s still there, it’s pipe clamped to the underside of the comms mounting grid...good chance it didn’t take a hit from the lifeboat.” he could see her, working the problem, weighing it to the risk of his proposal. “We gotta try.”

“Holy cow,” Edwards’ voice told them he was onto the same conclusion. “That means sendin’ somebody up top…”

“Captain here. Chief, we’re blind and deaf right now. Storm’s gonna take us way off course. If there’s even a chance of getting something back, we’ve gotta take it.”

Yuri keyed his mic. “Chief, Antonov. Meet me on three.” Without awaiting a response, he flipped to channel three and waited for his boss.

“Edwards here.”

“Chief,” Yuri replied. “I’m here with Stephens and Martinez. Chrissy’s got a plan to restore radio at least. We’re selecting our tools right now.”

The Chief Engineer asked, “you’re going with her?”

“Yes, Chief.”

“I can’t...won’t...order that,” the older man’s voice openly quavered. “You wear harnesses...head and eye protection…”

“Aye, Chief,” the Engineer’s Mate said. “I’ll report when it’s done.” Without another word, he and Chrissy filled their tool pouches.

Martinez started pulling his own kit together. “You’re gonna need help.”

“No. We’re taking too much water. You’ve gotta keep welding patches.”

“Bilge is too deep,” the machinist argued. “I can’t get to the stress cracks anymore.”

“Su Yi’s a diver,” Yuri stepped into his foul weather gear. “Pair up with her.” He appraised their handiwork. The air duct, now blocked, was holding, though water pressure within was forcing a bulge which foretold of eventual failure. “You got a couple ratchet straps?” he asked. “Run ‘em around those shoring beams..that’ll keep ‘em from splaying out.”

*********************

Chrissy’s plan was a good one. “Like mountain climbers,” she told him. “We’re gonna crawl the deck, roped together. Keep your head down. Don’t try to talk. At that windspeed, a drop of rain or salt spray can break a tooth.”

The First Mate stood by, his expression grave as she guided Yuri through the steps of their plan. “Only move when you’ve got a sure hand or foothold. The deck’s easy. Plenty of grips, and it’s painted with no-skid, which’ll help. The aft facing ladder,” she cautioned, “is the tough part. You gotta go up the port side. Let the wind push your chest right into the side rail. That’s where you’re most exposed, so you’ve gotta hurry...but Yuri! Remember...three solid holds before you move! You half-ass that and we could both go for a ride.”

“I understand.”

”Ku. Once you’re topside, we’ve got the mounting grid for our holds. Go all the way port; we’ll be sheltered by the roof coaming. From there, we can take a breather and scope out the damage.”

“Copy,” he replied as he checked the fit of her harness. Satisfied that all was secure, he presented himself for her inspection.
Chrissy tugged at his straps. “We’re most like to solder a new connector onto whatever cable’s left up there. Then we release the aux mast. Tricky part is pulling it up through the grid...like threading a needle. We’re gonna take our time..move, tie wrap, cut. Move, tie wrap, cut. You with me?”

He gave her a single nod. “Yes.”

“Most important,” she cinched a final strap down snugly, “we don’t sway up til we’ve got a hard connect to the grid. Wind’ll strip that mast right out of our hands. We’re gonna wrench the mount down, and we’ll both check it for tightness. Then we sway her up, screw on the connector, and be double careful on our way back down. You got that?” Her brows lifted.

Yuri responded with an appreciative smile. “You must be an amazing mountaineer.”

Chrissy’s focus didn’t waver. “A climb’s not a success until you’re home and safe. I’ll lead.” After checking their connecting rope, she exited the bridge through the starboard door. Yuri followed.

Even on this sheltered leeward side, the hurricane’s roar made conversation impossible. The deck they’d use for their traverse was little more than a balcony, roughly three feet wide down the starboard side, widening to perhaps four feet as it cut across aft. He watched the woman ahead as she first dropped to hands and knees. She crawled toward the corner as Yuri played out the rope between them. Chrissy turned, offering him a thumbs up. Though Yuri couldn’t see her eyes behind the goggles or the face wrap, he presumed she’d offered a smile. The greeting exchanged, she dropped onto her belly, flattening herself to the deck as she rounded the corner into the teeth of the hurricane. This would be the last time he’d see her until the top.

At one hundred forty miles per hour, a drop of water becomes a projectile. Despite the padding of jackets and foul weather gear, it strikes with sufficient force to bruise deep tissue and denude a bare knuckle to the underlying tendons. The shock and power of the wind was enough to completely disorient, but an onslaught of freezing ocean spray and rain would transform a frightening experience into a hellish nightmare.

Yuri kept his head turned, an instinctive act that didn’t seem to slow his progress, if the slack between them was any indication. Move. Find your grips. Check them. Wait for the slack to play out. Move. The pain was blinding, but he couldn’t dwell on it. Follow her lead. Move. Find your grips. Check them. Watch the slack. Move.

He came abreast of the ladder. A thousand bullets struck his back as Yuri labored to climb. He had to hurry...but the punishment of wind and the icy sea had worn him to the bone. With a roar, a powerful gust dislodged both of his feet from the ladder. His body went completely horizontal, leaving but one arm draped around the siderail. Terror flooded through him. Yuri kicked at the aft bridge windows, his screams unheard beneath the tempest. He latched on, one hand clutching the other as the wind attempted to dislodge him.

While such an experience would be considered surreal, the sudden dissipation of the wind seemed to verge upon the fantastic. He fell to the deck, gasping for air, his body writhing in pain as the roar seemed to give way to an ominous quiet. This was when he knew this to be a dream. Peace, perfect peace. He would lie here, resting under a sky now aglow with flashes of lightning.

“Yuri? YURI!” Chrissy’s voice jolted him to sanity. “Are you hurt?” she called, unseen from atop the wheelhouse.

“No….yes….I’m okay.”

“THEN GETCHER ASS UP HERE!”

That did the trick. A hasty climb brought him to the rooftop, where he found Chrissy huddled on the mounting grid, a crosshatch array of welded metal piping intended to affix radio antennae, radar transceivers, and satellite dishes...none of which he could see as the lightning flashed overhead. Chrissy had hauled in the remnant of the antenna lead, which she was busily stripping to prepare a new connector. “You alright?” she asked.

“Yes. Wind tried to pull me off…”

“Here,” she shoved the torch into his hand. You hold I’ll solder.”

With the bared cable in one hand and the torch in the other, Yuri held still as Chrissy set the new coupler into place. “Not pretty,” she clinched her teeth to tear at a length of electrician’s tape, “but it gets us something. Now. The mast. We’ve gotta hurry. That eye wall’s maybe five minutes out.”

Under the brief respite, the pair worked quickly to get the replacement antenna mast into place. The sky above was filled with lightning, great spidery arcs that extended for miles in all directions, only to be devoured by greedy sweep of the approaching eye wall. As they completed their task, Yuri took a moment to gaze down upon the stricken vessel. Here in the eye, the waves were no longer breaking over the deck. He spotted the damaged vent, gaping open as a twisted handrail lay sprawled atop it. Further aft, the unloading crane had broken its moorings and collapsed atop their mobile hatch gantry. As his gaze traveled to the hatches themselves, Yuri’s blood ran cold. Of the few clamps that had been secured into place, he saw the jagged edges of some that had broken. “The hatches,” he gasped.

They made it inside to hearty congratulations from the bridge crew. Much to Chrissy’s relief, the chatter of radio communications greeted Yuri and herself.

“This is the McSorley,” the Captain answered an incoming call.

“This is the Darryl Moncrief,” crackled the radio. “Twelve miles astern of you. You okay, Captain?”

“Our bilges are high and we’re down by one pump. Lost radars and NAVSAT.” The Captain’s eye took in both his engineer’s mates. “Just got our radio back.”

After a burst of static, the Moncrief’s captain replied. “Aww, gee, Cap’n, that’s some tough news. We saw you right over Eight Fathom Shoal. Think you bottomed out?”

“Didn’t feel it if we did,” the Captain answered. “Moncrief, we wanna change course and head northwest toward Slocum’s Atoll. Figure we’ll ride the storm out on the lee side and get pumped out, but we’re blind as a bat. Could you use your radar to point us there?”

“Pretty good plan, McSorley. We’ll follow you in. Put your navigator on and we’ll work out a fix.”

“Copy.” The Captain glanced toward both Chrissy and Yuri. Then he smiled. “Good job, you two.”

Yuri spoke up. “Captain, I had a look at the deck. We’ve got some broken hatch clamps…” The ship groaned audibly as the eye wall struck, heeling her slightly into a list from which she didn’t seem to recover.

“New course! Three-one-five!” the navigator cried out over the sudden roar.

“Helm, three-one-five. Go,” the Captain ordered. He turned once again to face Yuri. “Reactor output has dipped. Cut our best speed to seven knots. Even that wonder boy from the dog watch can’t can’t coax it back up. I need ten knots, Antonov. Urgently.”

“Aye, sir.” Soaking wet, dog tired and bruised as he was, Yuri made all haste as he left the bridge, Chrissy Stephens at his side.

“What should I do?” she asked.

“Forward pump starboard,” he said. “Keep an eye on it. I’ll alert the Chief. And I want to go mountain climbing!” Yuri shouted over his shoulder as he descended toward the raceway that would lead him aft.

He was met there by three inches of water.

***********************To Be Continued*********************

For a time, the storm’s rage was actually a benefit. Now on her new course, the Mick was taking massive seas directly astern, adding a welcome push to her forward momentum. For a few blessed hours, she held a steady seven knots. Her aft superstructure offered some protection from the punishing waves, cleaving a gap which protected at least a portion of the beleaguered cargo bay hatches. Slocum’s Atoll lay ahead, a craggy volcanic opening whose high face would offer both calm seas and a needed windbreak. Sheltering off the atoll’s lee shore would afford the chance to pump out the water and pursue emergency repairs. With the Darryl Moncrief’s radars to guide her, the Mick had only thirty-five miles remaining. If these conditions would hold, she’d be dropping anchors just past dawn.

Unfortunately, hurricanes rotate.

The wind began to shift, clocking steadily around to angle across the deck. So moved the waves, twenty foot towers of water that dumped their tonnage in lengthy, rolling crashes which rumbled forward. The ship had taken an alarming amount of water, filling her bilges and piling up in the raceways to curtail any crew movement within. With her cargo deck riding low and the length of her hull twisting through perpetually rolling seas, the Eileen McSorley faced some very grim hours.

Yuri had direct control of the reactor. The dog watch mate’s knife-edge manual control dance had ended predictably, resulting in a panicky overcorrection to contain a power spike. Now, the Engineer’s Mate struggled to raise power while the reactor itself was trending toward reduction.

His walkie was alive with constant chatter. The bridge intercom had been locked open, permitting all aboard to hear the realtime deliberations of the Captain and his officers. Chief Edwards was doing what he could, marshalling damage control teams to what might be remedied in the fore and aft sections of the ship.

LOG ENTRY FROM THE NS DARRYL MONCRIEF:

05:45 AM. Lat. 43.4N, Long. 65.2W. Course heading 315. Speed 4 kts. Seas running 20-25’. Wind shifting S 128mph, gusts to 135. NS Eileen McSorley 10 miles ahead, speed 3 kts. Taking water, but capt. reports “holding their own” en route to anchorage at Slocum’s Atoll. Our plan to come alongside and offer assistance until conditions once again passable.

“Four-point-seven megawatts,” he cursed under his breath. “The core is poisoning itself.” Yuri tapped at the control sequencer. Inside the struggling reactor core, the three control rods he’d inserted were now lifted by an inch. In desperate silence he watched the readout, pleading for a slow uptick in the power.

Nothing.

Xenon gas, a by-product of the fission process, was building within his reactor. Unless he could increase the power...boost the reaction with its’ subsequent rise in temperature, the gas would not burn away. It would accumulate, eventually strangling the core and forcing the safety overrides into a scram. The Mick would be powerless, losing steerage until the hurricane’s fury broached them to the onslaught.

Chief Engineer Edwards understood the crisis in his power plant. From the master panel he’d thrown breakers which cut power from every nonessential system. Yuri had also taken quiet note that the man had circulated among his crew, handing out inflatable life vests and doling out tasks to place them near exit hatches. For Yuri, there was no such remedy. Both men knew the closing chapter...the job Yuri would have to accomplish if fate came calling. “Twenty-two miles,” the old man placed a trembling hand upon his shoulder. “Just keep her going for twenty-two more miles.”

LOG ENTRY FROM THE NS DARRYL MONCRIEF:

06:02. Lat. 43.4N, Long. 65.2W. Course heading 315. Speed 4 kts. Seas running 25-30’. Wind shifting S 140mph, gusting to 145.. NS Eileen McSorley 10 miles ahead, speed 3 kts. At 06:01,this vessel struck in rapid succession by two large waves, est. height 50+ feet, gauged by damage sustained to wheelhouse aft windows.

Watch reactor output. Adjust control rod position... It seemed maddening that with such calamity in the wings he couldn’t take more action. A steady stream of bridge chatter fueled the adrenaline pulsing through his body.

“Zero freeboard, Captain. Cargo deck is completely awash…”

“Moncrief reports our position as twenty miles from Slocum’s…”

“Number Two Hatch is ajar! Collapsed into the hold!”

Yuri’s eyes lifted at the news. A hatch failure now opened the Mick to the mountainous seas. He heard the terror in Gallegos’ voice as the First Mate moved to a kneejerk remedy.

“Gantry crew, close up!”

“BELAY THAT!” the Captain roared. “NOBODY GOES ON DECK!” The channel fell silent. The Engineer’s Mate studied his readout. For a moment, the urge to calculate the sheer volume of water pouring into the exposed hold busied a corner of his mind. He tried another calculation, weighing the positive buoyancy of the watertight bow and stern sections against the flooded hold. Nineteen miles to go. If Slocum’s Atoll meant nothing else, it could provide a modicum of safety for the crew to abandon ship.

The deck tilted beneath his feet. Yuri grabbed the console to steady himself as the stern lifted. He felt a mighty push, as if a great hand delivered a forceful shove. The Eileen McSorley plunged ahead, riding the wave’s face downward. “One...two...three,” he counted aloud, waiting for the reassuring lift of her bow. “Four...five...six…”

He didn’t anticipate the hammer blow that sent him cartwheeling over the control console. Yuri tumbled through sudden darkness as a great, rending scream of tortured metal echoed up through the bowels of the ship. The compartment pitched downward, breaking his fall against the forward bulkhead. There were no more speculations...no more worries about maintaining the dwindling chain reaction. Whatever had just happened was cataclysmic. His job was now clear.

Fishing the hand torch from a pocket, Yuri hauled himself upward, toward the reactor’s upper housing. Without power to run the automated scram, his task was now the manual reinsertion of all twelve control rods. He sat atop the containment vessel, engaged the clutch to the first, and hand cranked it all the way into the unruly core. A hasty reset, and he pedaled the second into place.

When death becomes certainty, inner peace is life’s final gift. In this moment Yuri found no regret, no pang of love lost, or the faces of those he held most dear. There was just the work, simple, beautiful, and as each control rod struck home, satisfying.
After the final rod was cranked into place, Yuri Antonov reached for the knife valve. The reactor compartment would soon flood with sea water. Sometime...months, perhaps years from now, the reactor would cool. It’s pressure would decrease...and the sea would finish the job.

A violent shudder arose from below. Air pressure built around him, forcing his ears to pop as he clawed his way up toward an exhaust vent. She was taking her final plunge, the invading sea forcing out the last air as it pulled the great ship down. The mounting pressure gave rise to bitter pain in his ears. Yuri crouched before the vent, fingers pressed into his eardrums until the world exploded.

He felt a rush of wind, the scrape of metal as it tore at him from all sides...and then, the icy shock of the sea as it swallowed him. Yuri tumbled, his body limp as the violent currents pitched him about. Disorientation slowly ebbed, robbing him of precious oxygen until he realized the Mick had thrown him clear of her...a farewell gift. He forced himself to pause, relying upon the buoyancy of his body to point the way upward. Finally, with ferocious kicks and lungs burning burning for air, Yuri burst to the surface.

His fight to survive had just begun.

LOG ENTRY FROM THE NS DARRYL MONCRIEF:

06:10. Lat. 43.5N, Long. 65.3W. Course heading 315. Speed 3 kts. Seas running 25-30’. Wind shifting S 140mph, gusting to 140. Have lost contact with NS Eileen McSorley. Disappeared from radar, and fails to answer our calls. Issued a distress call on her behalf. Doubled our bridge watch to search for survivors

***********************To Be Continued*********************

Joint post with @Gunther

---

Unlike the day previous, Penelope had woken fresh and clean since she’d had mind to stop in the showers before hitting the bunk. That lazy smile of hers curled as she uncurled her body, stretching out to feel the soft sheets on her bare legs and arms before lifting a hand free of the patchwork quilt to pull it off her head.

Her hair was still damp from the night before, but without the sea salt and sand. Falling asleep with it wet had left her brown locks wavy with no discernible formula to it at all. The orange strip had faded away so the mess could pass as planned, she decided as she fluffed it in the mirror once.

Mind already moving onto the day’s task at hand before slipping into her pilot’s chair, she knew she had to get started if she wanted time for a nap. Her plans hadn’t included shopping again until Cal mentioned the temperature of the ship. For reasons not quite shared with many folk, all she owned was what she carried in that backpack. The restart to her life had been with O’Malley and his crew. They hadn’t been anywhere that warranted a winter wardrobe, so she was short a few things in that department.

But, as was with every morning, the first order of business was breakfast. Maybe she’d run into someone else who had need of a shopping trip in the galley. It would be nice to have some social time before she was rooted to the flight deck for a spell. Though, she did have Sam, and she was good company, Penelope was growing accustomed to the crew of the China Doll.

That realization had her biting her lip as she pulled up her orange-pallette boho-style of a jumpsuit. It wouldn’t do to go getting too attached, she reminded herself as she fastened the sleeveless straps and slipped into her flats. But… she countered her own thoughts as she conjured Abby layin’ there on her bed asking for advice, this ain’t the same…

Abby was genuine. Though Penelope could question herself on anyone else aboard, she was entirely, 100% without a doubt, sure of the younger girl. She thought she’d been that sure about others before, but, lookin’ back, it was easy to see how naive she’d been. How easy it was to blindly follow someone she admired. Loved. Loved?

Naw, she’d gone a long time without thinkin’ about it, and she wouldn’t now. Tellin’ what she had to the Cap’n must’ve gotten her mind goin’, was all. Some breakfast and shoppin’, then maybe a nap, that was the plan - all she needed to worry on. No sense in thinkin’ on the past and what ya can’t change, no sense in worryin’ about a future ya can’t see. Just here and now. One day at a time.

Breakfast, she reminded herself, and her smile pushed away that pensive expression as she started up the ladder without difficulty. It was early, so more like she’d just had a long nap, and didn’t miss breakfast at all. Last night had been nice - eating with everyone for once rather than strollin’ through after the masses already ate. Wonder who’ll be in there at this hour...

Not the first mate, she smirked, definitely needed a much longer sleep from the way he smelled. Took a bit to get that out of a system, and a lot of hydration. Hopefully Abby was resting, and the Skyes probably stayed up late again… maybe the doctor - what was her name again? Or Hook the Cook, as the blue-haired Skye called him - what was her name? Should prob'ly learn their names.

That thought got a breath of a chuckle as she crossed into the galley to see if breakfast was a served up thing or just a grab-and-go. Either way, tea was needed, so she'd start there.

Joe had been cleaning the kitchen as he did regularly this time of day. The Captain and the doctor had already passed through, ate their meals and left. He hadn’t seen the Skyes or the first mate yet. Abby was undoubtedly resting as she should be. He heard someone outside the galley making their way to the galley.’

Hook smiled when he saw the pilot. “Hello Miss Penny, what would you like for breakfast?” Hook had the griddle all heated up and ready to drop eggs, pancakes or whatever she may want.

“Mornin’, Hook.” Pen said with a sleepy little wave before she moved along the counter for a mug to pour some hot water in. “Let me get the tea a’steepin’ and give it a think. I ain’t quite used to a cook, truth be told. Didn’t get a chance to tell ya last night’s meal was some of tha best fish I ever had.”

She turned then as she dropped the steel leaf trap into the steaming mug, leaning back against the counter it sat atop. “Ya always like cookin’ for other folks?”

It was a question of curiosity, nothing more. As per usual, her lips curved pleasantly as she waited watched Hook get the preparings for others who might stroll on through. There was less folk on the China Doll, and less structure, but Penelope preferred it.

“Ah enjoy cookin’, if that’s what yew mean, shore,” Hook responded. “Ah learned to cook from the lady o’ the house ah grew up in. She taught me and her daughter, who was also a Penny.” Joe figured he could crack a few eggs in some bowls just to have them ready for scrambling or frying. “It does calm me to cook. Ah guess it gives me a degree of peace, preparing a meal, blending the ingredients and cooking the meal, makes me feel good. Then when folk compliment my efforts, that helps too.” Hook smiled at the pilot, paused and added, “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Penelope returned the grin, of course. She could see the rhythm of what he meant, how it could be soothing to a soul that needed a bit of tendin'. Handiworks had helped her in that way. After a beat of stirring the leaves and watching the water tint swirl, she found herself sharing just as easily as Hook had. "My clan of people figure on inner peace bein' all the need a man has in life. Bein' one with the gift of nature, and respectin' all it offers. I was a bit ah trouble for 'em, too adventurous, they said. But, even me as a kid can calm and steady when given somethin' to do with my hands. Never thought about cookin' that way till ya made it sound right poetic."

She weren't teasin'. The last few years tampered that wilder, impulsive side of hers down tight. Did a lot of introspection. Came to appreciate the here and now so she could really be at peace in it.

“Yes, ma’am,” Hook nodded. “You be right, Miss Penny. I like those remarks about your clan. That seems real nice. Everyone needs a clan.” Hook smiled on that notion. A clan to him was a family. That is what you need in life. “Also appreciate the inner peace. I can get behind that.” Although inner peace was somewhat elusive to Joe Hooker. His head was always twirling in so many directions. Having something to focus on helped, but his head was twisted in ways he may never be able to fix. He guessed one of these days he’d snap...again. He’d done it before. When his demons came out.

“You know Miss Penny. You are nothing like mah other Miss Penny. She had long dark hair, dark eyes, slender face and pouty lips. She was the most beautiful creature ah ever met, both on ta’ outside and inners. Ah shore do miss her. She and her kin were killed by the purple bellies near the end of the war.” Joe Hooker lost his smile after that reflection. “But you don’t need to hear another sad tale. Tell me about what you did on your day off from flying this ship.”

Penelope had thought Hook seemed like the type to understand, not look at her all sideways for the simplicity of her people and their harmonious notions. She was glad to see she’d been right. Man who could shoot another man without hesitation could understand, seemed like more folk could. But it wasn’t somethin’ she worried herself over - or judged anyone by. Her people also weren’t the judging sort. She was glad to have gotten the best parts from her teachers, at the very least, even if she’d been late to the lesson.

When Hook spoke up about his Penny, hazel eyes turned back from the mug once more. They studied the man as he gave almost lovin’ words graciously, and softened sadly with the conclusion of her fate. It’d been said almost as one would tell a story from long ago, but she could tell somehow it might not have been as far past in his heart.

The change of subject hadn’t surprised her, not really. She picked up some sweetener and liberally poured it into the steaming mug to cool it, letting it blend with the herbal leaves. “I spent some time up the island a ways, on a beach, shellin’. Got Abby a real nice one, and quite a haul to trade when we get to Greenleaf. My people like trades, ‘specially from off-world.”

She flashed a grin to Hook before takin’ a careful test sip of her tea. Just fine, she decided, and moved over to be out of his work area just in case he needed the room, but stayed in sight. “Met some locals. Was goin’ to go wind-surfin’, but got distracted with a project and some delicious food.”

She winked at that, compliments to the chef again. “Ain’ goin’ nowhere, so I’ll get to it next time I’m here, I’m sure. What ‘bout you, Hook? Get into anythin’ in your shore leave aside from catchin' dinner, or stick around the Doll the whole time 'tween?”

“The Doll, that’s great,” Hook gave a toothy grin. “Ah like that nickname.” He nodded to her. “Ah did indeed stick around the Doll. The Captain and I went out fishing on ta’ first day. Ah will admit that also was very calming. He caught five of the fish and I only caught three. But it was a wonderful experience being out near the lake. Like your beach trip, being near the water is always calming. Ah do prefer it.”

Hook looked at the grill and the bowls of egg. “Miss Penny, what would you like to eat?”

Oh, she remembered, food. The conversation while she waited on her tea had been nice, she'd forgotten he'd been waiting to start something for her. Wasn't used to it. "I like veggies and eggs. Can ya do me up an omelette, please?"

Helen would be proud to know she had some sort of manners. Might not believe it.

“No problem, Miss Penny,” Hook responded, then turned to the preparation table. “How about onion, green pepper, mushrooms? And maybe some cheese?” Joe simply pulled out a few of the vegetables and a knife, beginning to chop them into small pieces.

“That sounds real nice - we got any leafy greens? Meant to ask Cap’n about the Hydroponics…” Penelope mused aloud before taking a sip of her tea. Greenleaf would have all sorts of seeds. She’d have to make a list, if all turned out alright.

Joe finished chopping up the ingredients. I beat up the eggs with some milk then poured the mix onto the grill. He allowed the egg to begin to harden up, then scattered the chopped peppers, onion and mushrooms over the mix. When the egg was a bit more solid, he started to fold the edges up over the top. He allowed it to cook a few minutes longer then flipped it over.

“The Captain mentioned the hydroponics before we left Persephone, but it wasn’t complete. Maybe we can work on that when we reach Greenleaf. We can get some spinach and kale, maybe broccoli and a few other vegetables. Ah had some asparagus but used that last night.”

When the omelet was ready, he scooped it up, slid it onto a dinner plate and set it at the table for the ship’s pilot. “Here you go, Miss Penny. Breakfast is served.”

Penelope had moved over to have a seat at the table, sippin’ at her hot tea, and watching the chef do his work. Seemed like he was in his element, so she didn't want to disturb him. Before she knew it, the omelet was sizzled up real good sittin' pretty before her.

“Thank ya, Hook, smells wonderful.” She smiled up at him. “Ya ate anythin’ yourself yet?”

“Thank you, Miss Penny. I had my breakfast two hours ago.” Joe turned to the coffee pot, picked up his mug, poured a cup, then turned to take a seat at the galley table. He sipped from the mug and felt the taste was still good. He could clean up a bit later. He expected more of the crew would wake up and want to eat soon.

From having watched the fella at his work, and the way he’d been reminiscing a little bit previous, Penelope wondered how much was tusslin’ around in that head of his. The way he’d go quiet between tasks, his eyes check out… she’d seen it before. Felt for him, despite tryin’ her best not to form attachments to folks. Her words were comin’ out before her mouth could hold them in. "Ya know Hook, I wouldn't mind one bit hearin' any of your tales - sad or not. Sometimes it helps - to talk about it, make it hurt less or maybe figure somethin’ out."

Joe sat at the table with his mug cupped between both hands. He stared at the wall across the room as if in a trance. He lifted the mug to his lips and took a sip. A sigh brushed past his lips signifying a form of surrender. It made Penelope think she’d gone done crossed a line in invading privacy, but just as she was about to apologize, he started speaking.

“When ah was small, there was a boy on ta McGinnis farm named Leonard. Mr. McGinnis called him Lenny. If one of us called him Lenny, he would beat us. There were seven of us boys plus Leonard.” Joe stared into the wall across the table. He took another sip. “Leonard was the oldest. He came to the farm first. Obviously, he had been abused before he was orphaned. He wanted us to call him Leo. So, we called him Leo.” Joe gulped more coffee before continuing, allowing an uncomfortable lengthy pause. “Leo beat the daylights out of me. I might have been six or seven, ah can’t remember how old ah was. Ah might have been older. He kicked me betwixt the legs. ah doubled over in pain falling to the ground. He then proceeded to kick me all over. He kicked me everywhere. I had a bloody nose and bruises all over when he was done. Leo was at least a teenager. He was more than a head taller ‘an me. He was mean. A bully if you will. Just an angry boy and he was going to take all that anger out on me and my brothers. But his torture caused the rest of us to bond tightly; brothers formed by misery.”

“Penny was a ray of sunshine in a dismal existence.” Joe thought that last comment over more. “Ah shouldn’t say that. Not everything living on the farm was bad. It was just Leo. but he raped a girl in town and then kilt her. He went to jail ah think, then died in jail. He was juss angry. He also taught the rest of us to fight. Ah don’ know if it was his intention or if he just wanted to release all that pent up anger, but he taught us to fight. Kind of the way a dad drops a child into a lake to teach em to swim.”

“When ah was eleven or twelve, Mrs. McGinnis invited me into her kitchen to learn to cook. We started with baked goods, cookies, cakes, pies, muffins, and breads. Then she taught us some rubs and marinades, soups, and more detailed ways of preparing meats. Eventually, we learned some more complex recipes involving varying temperatures and cooking some parts of a dish separately. Anyway, Penny and ah became close during our cooking classes. She and ah shared everything together. She was mah best friend. Ah knew when ah was about 18 or 19 years old that ah loved her. She was not mah real sister. Besides, she was white, an ah am black. No way we were real siblings.” Joe chuckled at that idea.

Joe pictured Penny in his mind, sipped the coffee. “She was taller’n you, maybe average height for a woman. The lass time ah saw her, we were in our early 20s. Mah brothers and ah were about to head off to war with the Heran Militia. Ah remember mah last night on the farm. We were alone and ah was starin’ into her eyes. We both had tears streaming down our faces. We did not know when we would see each other again or ever. Ah wanted to kiss her, but her mother walked in on us. We abruptly parted and I blurted that I needed to go pack. She wasn’t there in the morning when we left. That was the last ah saw of her. I thought of her often when ah was fightin’ them purple bellies.”

“When the war ended, my brothers were all gone. There were only a few survivors left from the fight in Serenity Valley. I wanted to go back to the farm. But the closer ah got to the farm, the more ah learned about what had happened. The purple bellies had taken over the farm and killed the family that lived there. The McGinnis’ were all gone. Ah was the sole survivor. No one survived from that farm, but me.”

“Ah wandered around Hera for a spell, trying to find direction. I drank a lot back then. Whiskey, wine, beer, whatever I could find. I got into a lot of fights too; beat plenty of men cuz ah knew how to fight. And ah was angry. A Shepherd gave me some wise advice. To find peace within me first then, ah could more easily deal with my past. So, ah hitched a ride on a passing freighter. Served as a deck hand and cook. Ah’ve been doin’ that ever since.”

“But Penny? She was beautiful. She had a great sense of humor, a lively wit; the life of the party. Ah shore do miss her.” Joe looked at the pilot and smiled, “Fortunately, you do not look like her.” Joe meant that last comment more as a relief that she did not remind her of Penny, just the name.

“So tell me about your clan.” Joe looked at Penelope Randall.

Somewhere along the story, Penelope had stopped eating without noticing. As he spoke, she could see it unfold as if she were watchin’ a picture. And it was heartbreakin’. Her lot in life hadn’t been easy, but it sure hadn’t been that hard. When he turned the question on her, she gathered her fallen expression and gulped against the tightness in her throat. “That… sounded like it was a hard time, Joe. Real hard…”

Since he’d turned the topic, she wasn’t sure how much he’d want her lingering on it, but her brows knit before those hazel eyes turned back on him. “Did ya… ever look for Penny? I know ya said the folk on the farm had been, well, murdered an’ all. But ya also said she weren’t around when ya left. Maybe she wadn’t there?”

That’s just like you, Pen - bein’ hopeful. Always finding the silver-lining. That thought wasn’t her own, but a voice of disdain she heard every time she cared enough. Been hearing a lot more lately, but she brushed it away. Wasn’t about her - never was. Instead, she held her gaze on Hook in there here-and-now.

Joe couldn’t meet her eyes. His expression, placid. “Yea, mebee she still alive. I been thinkin’ an hopin that for the past twelve years or so. Ah don’ even know how long it has been.” Joe sipped his coffee. “Ah did look for her and her brother, Walter. Ah never saw either of them. Anyone and everyone ah spoke to, tole me they was dead.”

That last bit had Penelope biting her lip, thinkin’. She knew that if someone didn’t want to be found, the best way to make it happen was make everyone that knew you think you were dead. Maybe Walter and Penny didn’t figure on anyone good in their life bein’ alive to come lookin’. She sighed, and picked up her fork. “Well, I do hope they’re out there, Hook. I do. Ain’t right to have lost everyone like that.”

“Ah agree, Miss Penny. Ah agree.” Joe thought to himself for a few minutes, “but that form of hope is painful.

Penelope gave a sad smile down at what was left of her omelette. “I know.”

But when she glanced back up at him, cheer was back on her features. “Ya asked about my clan? All of Greenleaf is mostly jungle ‘cept the one massive city cut right into the green. There’s all sorts livin’ in the jungle still, refusin’ to move on into the city. Barefoot folk, is what the city folk call us. Well, I’m a transplant. Was born just before my family moved to the city, then ended up back out in the jungle for a spell. Ain’t rightly fit in either world, wantin’ to be in the black an’ all.”

She waved a hand at that and continued, “But anyway, my clan took me on when I was about … maybe nine, maybe eleven. Tree folk - safer livin’ up there than on the forest floor, ‘specially at night. Most clans out in the jungle live in the trees. Simple way of life, really. They’re peaceful tradesmen. Give thanks to the spirit of the jungle for all its bounties. When I left, the Alliance was tryin’ to weed ‘em out. There were skirmishes over the forest - that’s where all the medicinal plants are, ah course. Them purps don’t respect the forest, so even peaceful folk will go to war to protect it. Ain’t did too good without weapons, ‘least till the city folk sympathizers started helpin’.”

Penelope took a bite, pausing as she chewed and thought. “Got all sorts now workin’ against the Alliance. Smugglers, guerrilla agents… it escalated for a while, but tampered down on account of not wanting to damage the forest. The clans actually united on that, became nomads on their own planet. Shameful, the way the Alliance disrespects an entire planet and its people.”

It was the closest to being worked up Penelope had been in a while, heat coming out in her words. She sighed, closed her eyes, then opened them again to look at Hook. “They’re good folk, my clan.”

“Sounds like you had a good rearin’ in the trees. Yo not fear a the heights then, arn’t ya?” Joe was smiling again, happy to listen to Penelope and not telling his woes. “Yo right about the purple bellies. They be messin’ wit too many folks lives. It is awful.”

Penelope laughed a little about the question about heights, shaking her head as she did so. Quite the opposite. The levity of that notion didn’t fade all that much with the comment on the Alliance. She’d been good at avoiding feelings for a while, even if she was gettin’ more tangled up these days. “Ya know what ain’t though? This here omelette. Been a long time since I had one so good. Thank ya, Hook. If it were up to me, I’d have chewy eggs and burnt cheese.”

Some nights she dreamed.

A shrink once tole her that folk dream every night, but jest don’t ‘member ‘em next mornin ‘. Abby could cotton that notion. Made sense. Way brains worked weren’t nothin’ she ever conjured, but seemed to her that even a brainpan needed regular cleanin’ out. Jest takin’ out the trash. Easy peasy. Still, some mornin’s afore risin’ she pondered on the lost dreams.

As she did, the old question come back around. Abby seen value pitched out in people’s trash all the time. Had been known tah crawl a dumpster once or twice fer somethin’ she could use, jest like she’d leave a perfect fine thing she’s finished with out fer others what might have need of it. But dreams didn’t work that way. If she couldn’t ‘member them as she had last night, how’s she tah learn their teachin’s?

She seen dreams talked about in one ‘er two of her books. Struck her odd that most she found ‘bout ‘em come from folk what lived on Earth-That-Was. Chalk she liked to buy fer her drawin’s was called “Little van Gogh.” One time she looked that van Gogh fella up on tha cortex an’ learnt he’s a painter from long, long ago. Abby liked his work; he painted what he wanted, an’ weren’t skeert ‘o’ things not lookin’ like the real world. Seein’ what he did give her whole confidence in her own chalk drawin’s. “I dream my painting and I paint my dream.” She weren’t one fer nitpickin’ quotes, but one thing Abby had figgered out was most times the simplest things could give yah what yah need. Like her drawin’s, an’ the dreams behind ‘em.

Abby pulled herself up in bed, bare feet hittin’ the deck. She worked the brush through ‘er hair once-twice, then grabbed a pair ‘o’ them new boxers fer slippin’ on over her unders. The sleepin’ tee she’s wearin’ was a man’s, an’ a few sizes too big, so she knotted it at the bottom afore risin’. Not set fer workin’, but she could git coffee without raisin’ eyebrows.

The steps come easier this mornin’. She’s still a might sore, but walkin’ an’ movin about felt tolerable good as the girl stepped inta tha galley. Only folk in the room was Pen an’ Hook. By the look ‘o’ things, he done set ‘er up with some breakfast. Musta been good, seein’s how her plate had naught but a scrap or two left.

“Mornin’,” she give a smile an’ a lift of her hand as she made for the coffee.

<tag Pen, Hook>

The pilot's smile turned from one deckhand to the other. "Morning, Abbs! I was figurin' you'd sleep in today some."

The smile Penelope stretched into a toothy grin at that, saying' all she didn't say aloud. Ya know, on account of your late-night galavanting, an' all.

Fer a minute there, Abby’s struck dumb. Pen said that all innocent like, but that Cheshire Cat grin ‘o’ hers was bright enough tah read by. Caught ‘er all flat footed, ‘til she ‘membered her trainin’.

”When you’re a spy…”

Quandary was, she couldn’t think ‘o’ nothin’ from there on. Had tah move...Hook weren’t stupid. He’d catch on she’s on tha spot right quick.

Abby grabbed tha coffee, raised the cup to her lips. She put an index finger up in the “jest one minute” sign as she pulled her wits from them sleep cobwebs. Finally, as the warmth spread through her innards, the girl had somethin’ tah come back with.

“Big day,” she cleared her throat afore speakin. “Got launch and a hover cargo pickup tah prep. Still ain’t got a mechanic so I may have tah run preflights, ‘less the Cap’n says different.” That piece ‘o’ wit put out there, she give Pen a smile of her own afore takin’ another sip.

<Tag Pen, Hook>

The reaction was more telling than her grin, Penelope thought as she sheathed her smile by way of coffee mug. Poor Abbs, she thought in amusement, as she watched the girl collect herself. It was a good cover, though maybe unnecessary worry given medicine and recovery that need not be wasted as an excuse. Definitely one to get a much different look, though. Lips pressed and brow crinkled. "How 'bout we start off the day of light work lettin' Hook make ya breakfast, 'ey Abbs? Ain't need to pull a stitch 'fore ya had eggs."

What happened to Miss Easy-Goes? Penelope signed softly, her light smile at the end of her last suggestion still in place as she ran a hand through her hair at her scalp. "I gotta get out of here if I'm going to get back in time for my own pre-flight punchlist. Hook, I'm puttin' ya in charge of wranglin' your fellow deckhand if she gets too lively."

She'd mostly been teasing, but part of her chidin' was meant a gentle reminder. Abby'd been out and about walkin' way more than she should, and less sleep than required wouldn't make up for it. Stubborn girl. Reminded Penelope of herself a few years back in that regard.

Hook had already gotten a jump on cleaning, spending the time getting things squared away. He heard the young woman enter the galley, but in typical Joe Hooker style, he missed those subtle clues between the women. He simply brushed it off as girl business. He didn’t push it any. Not his business.

“Good mornin’, Miss Abby. I trust you had a decent night’s sleep?” Joe Hooker looked at the young woman. “Yes, Miss Penny, I will take care of Miss Abby. You lets me know ‘bout the new shipment. Ah will come with you and take care o’ that. You don’ need to be liftin’ heavy objects. That’s Hook’s job.” Hook wiped the plate he was cleaning off and placed it back in the cupboard. “Now, what you be havin’ fer breakfast?”

"How 'bout we start off the day of light work lettin' Hook make ya breakfast, 'ey Abbs? Ain't need to pull a stitch 'fore ya had eggs."

Did it work? Judgin’ by that knowin’ look in Pen’s eye, the whole shootin’ match done gone down in flames. Abby found herself all surprised t’how the pilot come tah know her so quick...an’ how she kinda liked that. Fer a couple ticks she wondered if this was like what she read ‘bout sisters knowin’ each other...an’ callin’ out each other’s la shi. “Yer prob’ly right,” she give her head a tilt as she thought on it. “S’pose I should wait fer tha Cap’n...and have a bite.”

"I gotta get out of here if I'm going to get back in time for my own pre-flight punchlist. Hook, I'm puttin' ya in charge of wranglin' your fellow deckhand if she gets too lively."

There’s that look, ‘cept this time it’s more commandin’, Abby come back with her own expression, white flag wavin’ in her eyes. Message was clear. She done enough galavantin’ last night when she most like shouldn’t. Time tah shut up an take her medicine tahday.

Best she could tell, Hook conjured all this, ‘cuz he stepped right in ‘thout missin’ a beat.

“Good mornin’, Miss Abby. I trust you had a decent night’s sleep? Yes, Miss Penny, I will take care of Miss Abby. You lets me know ‘bout the new shipment. Ah will come with you and take care o’ that. You don’ need to be liftin’ heavy objects. That’s Hook’s job.”

Yep. She’s done for. Abby glanced about the galley; Cap’n hadn’t left the clipboard out fer her this mornin’. Mayhaps they all was in cahoots tah keep her jest layin’ about. “Howdy, Hook,” she give him a smile ever’ bit how she felt. “What I heard yesterday was we’s hoverin’ over a fishin’ boat haulin’ up two tons ‘o’ fish. I promise I’ll do somethin’ light...run tha hoist ‘er somethin’...” Way they’s all comin’ at ‘er this mornin’, most like best tah follow along. She didn’t know how the Cap’n paid them’s was hurt, but she wanted tah keep this job.

“Now, what you be havin’ fer breakfast?”

The girl pondered that. Fer years, breakfast was always protein paste an’ powdered eggs. But Hook had a way ‘o’ gettin ‘ tha genuine article. She took a minute, thinkin’ all serious afore realizin’ deep down somethin’ she wanted...somethin’ she only had once afore.

“Um...can I have waffles?”

<Tag Hook>